Task Force MoBear
by MoAirBear
Summary: Long many chapters 1st part of the Missouri National Guard's movement into Kansas after the bombs went off.


Task Force MoBear - The Jericho Option

"Dear God, what are those people doing?" I lowered my binoculars and looked at the Captain as he too stared down into what appeared to be a large scale firefight between two armed mobs outside some dinky little town called Jericho.

"I don't know sir," I replied. "But it looks like a bad recreation of the Little Big Horn for the townsfolk, though." I shook my head as the memories of the past came flooding back. Over eight months ago I was a Master Sergeant for the Missouri Air National Guard and the Captain was my best friend. A former Navy flight officer who had gotten out a number of years ago and had been recalled right after "The Day." By some small quirk we ended up in the same "ad-hoc" unit that the governor of Missouri had ordered into Kansas "to help." Help who? Missouri was having enough problems as is.

My moments of "inner reflection" were interrupted by a large explosion down in the firefight.

"Better whistle up the cavalry, Sergeant," said Captain Morgan. "Have them plant their flame eggs right in between the two groups."

I nodded and raised the handset, "Tango Whiskey Seven, Tango Whiskey Seven, this is Zulu Papa Two, over."

"This is Whiskey Seven, go ahead Papa Two," a voice crackled into my ear piece.

"Ground support mission, strike point MB52789306. Drop your flame eggs 1500 meters due west of our position, we will mark our position with yellow smoke, repeat, yellow smoke. Your target will be between two groups involved in a firefight."

"Roger that, Zulu Papa, yellow smoke. On our way. ETA in 5 minutes."

"ETA in 5 minutes, Captain." I looked at him and chuckled, "Hell of a way to bring peace."

Morgan lowered his field glasses, "To paraphrase a great Union general, I saw some good Kansasans today..."

"And they were dead." I replied, picking up two yellow smoke grenades from the ground next to the radio. I quickly pulled the pins and hurled them west. "Shall we get ready to 'show the flag?'???"

"Good idea," replied Morgan. He took the handset from me, changed the channel, and spoke. "Ok, Task Force MoBear, mount up and form a skirmish line. AFVs to the front and uncase the colors."

I looked back at Task Force Mobear sitting on the road behind us. We had started out from Camp Clark, an old Missouri National Guard base six months ago with over 60 military vehicles and 500 plus Guardsmen and Reservists. Now we were down to 24 vehicles and 290 some personnel. I smiled at the variety of vehicles, an M-1, two M-60s, 5 Bradleys and M-113s and even a WWII M-24 Chaffee and an M-4 Sherman. The Sherman and Chaffee tanks had come from a small museum that I had known about. Though old, they had helped us when we had run into that bunch of ignorant mercenaries that thought that "black BDUs" made them supermen. Well, quote the Raven (wood), "Nevermore."

I looked down at my weapon, we had left Missouri armed to the teeth with modern infantry weapons as well, after the "Ravenwood Incident" we all began to carry what we were "good with." I had traded in my M-16 for what I had always considered to be the best close in weapon ever, the M1 Thompson SMG. Scrounging is good for the soul.

A low roar from behind and above us made me look up.

Like two birds of prey, in rolled two elderly F-4 Phantoms. They jinked left, then right, then lined themselves up and roared in towards the "battle."

"Thank god for the Boneyard," said Morgan.

The planes released their load and pulled up fast. The silver cylinders tumbled in towards the center of the firefight and exploded on contact. A sheet of heat and flame burst out in a hellish line that consumed the area between the two groups. The "townie" group was rooted in place, stopped firing and watched the aircraft banking off. Then the other group did something very stupid.

Some fool launched some kind of missile (we never did find out what kind) at the jets. You see, the pilots had only dropped HALF of their load. They came back and dropped the rest on the "out-of-towners." Cluster munitions.

Just another day of "helping the people."

Task Force MoBear - The Beginning, Part 1

Where were you on "The Day?"

For me it was sitting at home getting ready for one of my final Air Guard drills. You see, my Missouri Air Guard unit at Jefferson Barracks, Missouri (south of St. Louis and the oldest American military base west of the Mississippi, BTW) was undergoing what was called "force restructure and revision" by the higher-ups. We called it "closing the doors." Either way, I was going to be out of the Air Guard unless I could find a new home.

My Air Force career field is "Readiness," a few years ago it was called "Disaster Preparedness," when I first got in it was called "NBC Defense." Regardless, my career field isn't the most well-liked as I'm the guy that makes people put on their chem suits (they suck in July). I was one of only 10 Air Guard Readiness NCOs in the state.

Anyway, I was at home when all of a sudden the CNN News on cable went out. I picked up the remote and began to run the channels, with the exception of the local feeds, everything else was out. The local CBS station had up a "We regret the technical problems" notice. Then the scanner went off with "All fire, police, EMS, and CERT personnel stand by for an emergency page." I perked up as I'm also a member of my towns CERT (Community Emergency Response Team) group. "All police, fire, EMS, and CERT personnel will report to the fire station due to the national emergency situation."

Huh? What national emergency situation? Cable being out a national emergency? I picked up the cell phone but it showed "no signal." What the f---? Then the land-line phone rang. I grabbed it.

"This is an emergency notice from the headquarters of the Missouri National Guard," stated a monotone voice that went on sounding like a taped message (it was). "All Army and Air National Guard members will report to their units or to the nearest armory in uniform." The voice began to repeat the message again. I just stood there.

My wife walked into the room. "What's the matter?" she asked. I handed her the phone and began to run the channels again. The local NBC station was running an "emergency situation report" by one of the local reporters. I pushed the volume up so I could hear it.

".......confirmed reports say that mushroom clouds have been spotted over the following cities. Atlanta, Washington DC, Boston, Chicago, Denver, Los Angeles, Dallas, San Francisco, and Seattle. The state government of Kentucky has ordered up the Kentucky National Guard and has asked the people of the commonwealth to pray for the victims of this attack."

"I'd better get dressed and head over to the armory here in town," I said. "I'm not going to try and drive 3 hours to St. Louis. It could become a target real quick."

My wife nodded, "And I'll bet you that every road out of St. Louis is clogged solid as the city empties. I wonder how fast before I get called up for FEMA duty?"

I whipped my head around as the local broadcaster began to read off a few more names, "........Houston, and Miami. In addition, a mushroom cloud has been reported just west of Kansas City, Missouri..." I turned back to my wife, "Sweetie, I don't think the FEMA regional headquarters in KC is going to be calling anytime soon." I finished dressing.

My wife grabbed the checkbook and headed for the door. "I'm headed for the grocery store before the mobs clean it out. If they're stupid enough to take a check then I'll be back with plenty of non-perishable food. And yes, I've got my Makarov. Stay here until I get back, I don't want to leave our son alone."

"Right, I'll get the water tank filled and get the weapons and ammo out of the safe."

Thirty minutes later the wife returned with her car filled to the headliner with food. She had bought plenty of canned goods (veggies, meat, and fruit), bottled water, toilet paper (a must have!), dried food (beans, etc.) and plenty of over-the-counter meds. As we unloaded the car I noticed she had also bought 20 cartons of various cigarettes. Ah, trade goods for all the nicotine fiends.

An hour later I was at the door of the local armory where I had once drilled when the unit had been a detachment of a combat engineer battalion. Now it was a detachment of a transportation company. I walked in and quickly realized that few of the unit had shown up (most of them lived far out of town, were out of town when "The Day" happened, or just didn't bother to show up). I was also the highest ranking person there (I'm an MSgt (E-7)).

I was in charge.

Task Force MoBear - The Beginning, Part 2

Dear God, I was in charge.

In charge of 15 Army National Guardsmen, ranging in rank from privates to a Staff Sergeant, who were all milling around in search of someone who would tell them what to do. Some had all their gear out of their lockers, others were standing around talking and one was crying as he and others were glued to the TV in the break room.

"Who's in charge here?" I asked.

"I guess I was until you got here," stated the staff sergeant. "What's going on?"

"Get all the soldiers out here on the drill floor right now, sergeant and I'll explain."

The staff sergeant (who wasn't a member of this unit, but belonged to a MP company located in a different part of the state) got everybody out on the drill floor in a formation.

"Listen up everyone. I don't have all the answers right now, but with what's going on right now, the people of this area are counting on us. Who's from this unit and are any of the full-time staff here?"

Nine of the guardsmen raised their hands and one spoke up. "No sergeant, we haven't seen the full-time person, Sergeant Phillips. She lives about hour's drive from here, but I think she and her family went on vacation to visit her family in Atlanta."

Oh crap, I thought. "Does anybody here have the combination to the arms vault?" No one spoke up. "Where's her office?"

In her office I looked around, there was the key box (locked, of course). I had been a full-time guardsman in this same armory 10 years ago so I started looking. It took me five minutes but I found an extra key for the key box that gave me access to the armory's secure areas (supply, motor pool, POL shed, rear vehicle gate, etc.). But where were the combinations for the arms vault and the weapon rack keys box?

I sat in her chair and thought, where would I hide the combination just in case I forgot it? I looked in her desk, nothing. Looked around the room checking out various possible places, nothing. Pulled out the desk drawers and looked at the bottoms of the drawers, nothing. Looked at the bottom of her chair, nothing. Finally, I looked in the security folder/manual, and of course, there on a file card, were the combinations.

I walked out of the office and gave the staff sergeant the combination to the weapon racks key box (in the detachment commander's office) and headed for the arms vault. It took me 5 tries but finally the tumblers fell and I swung open the vault door.

I stepped in and keyed off the alarm system. Four racks of M-16s, some with M203 grenade launches and one partial rack of M214 SAWS (a light machinegun) sat chained up. A minute later the staff sergeant walked in with the rack keys. "Great, we've got weapons, but no ammo (most National Guard armories have no ammo, it's a security problem I was told once)," he stated.

"Yup," I replied. I took the keys from him, unlocked one of the racks, and pulled out a M16/M203 combo. Looking around the vault, I noticed a cardboard box full of M16 magazines. I picked up one, put it in the magazine well and slapped it in. "There, now it looks like it's loaded. As long as we look like we know what's going on and that we're ready for anything, then the lack of ammo isn't that apparent."

The staff sergeant nodded, "Good idea."

"Issue each person an M-16 and some magazines. I'm taking a Humvee to the police station to see what help they may need. Keep the troops busy. Those men without gear, if they don't have any at home, then take some bolt cutters and break open the lockers of the people who probably aren't going to show up anytime soon and issue that out. Pull motor stables on the vehicles and find out which vehicles run and their fuel status." I headed out the door to the motor pool.

Signing out a Humvee from the motor sgt (a Specialist (E-4)), I headed down to the police station. It looked like my future in the National Guard was going to become real interesting, real soon.

Task Force MoBear - The Beginning, Part 3

Upon reaching the police station, I parked the Humvee (and chained the steering wheel) and entered the police station. The dispatcher saw my uniform and waved me in.

It was chaos, people were three deep in the lobby all yelling that their problem had higher priority then anybody else. A side door opened and I was asked by a uniformed officer to "Come in, sir."

The chief of police was in the EOC (Emergency Operation Center) pushing pins into a map of the United States. Also on the walls were a map of the state of Missouri and a county map. They had pins in them too.

"What's up chief?" I asked. I looked around the room, other than an officer at the radios; there wasn't anybody else around the "command" table. "Where's city government?"

The chief sighed, "Right now, I am the city government." He shook his head. "The mayor's dead of a massive heart attack, three of the four city councilmen were at a conference in Chicago, the fourth councilman and the CERT Director are out of town at a golf tournament. We can't find the City Clerk or Collector and the remaining department heads, water, sewer, and street are all sitting on their hands waiting for orders." He slammed his fist into the map in frustration. "What do you want?"

"I've got about fifteen National Guardsmen at the armory ready to help. We've got vehicles and weapons ready."

"I bet you haven't a single bullet for those weapons, right?" Said the chief. He broke into a funny laugh. "I've got at least one problem solved today then. In the weapons locker we've got 20 cases of 5.56 ball ammo I had the city buy for weapons practice for our AR-15s. Take what you need." He stopped and looked at the maps. "I need some ideas fast on what to do right now."

"Where's the fire chief?"

"He's down at the fire station. I've got him there in case something happens here, just in case."

"OK," I replied. Step one; we'd better get the off-ramps from the interstate blocked off so we don't get all the refugees from the big cities pouring into town. We can use either 18-wheelers or some combines. Step two; we better post some officers/guardsmen at the local gas stations just in case of trouble. The same goes for the food stores."

"I may not have enough people," said the chief. "This town only has 3,00 people, but we've got seven gas stations and two decent sized grocery stores, plus blocking off the interstate off-ramps is going to stretch us thin."

"True, but 4 of those gas stations are within a block of each other," I noted. "The sooner we get started the better"

It took some time, but we got "stuff" straightened out.

Task Force MoBear - The Formation, Part 1

It was now 3 months since "The Day" and I was now standing in the Governor's office in Jefferson City. I had been brought up (by air as some roads still weren't safe enough for travel) for a briefing by the "new" Governor.

Our town had weathered the "storm" of the last two months and the state government had gotten itself sorted out after "The Day." So here I was.

The Governor had been the Lt. Governor and had assumed the office because the Governor had gone to Washington to hear the President's speech. Bad mistake. He had taken with him the Attorney General, the Secretary of State and the Adjutant General. I had known the Lt. Governor when he had been a newspaper publisher in southeast Missouri and he had stepped into the dead Governor's office without much of a pause.

Also in the meeting was the Missouri Speaker of the House, the "acting Adjutant General, an Army Guard Colonel and a 1st Sgt, myself, and an old friend, Captain Morgan, who had served with me as an enlisted man in the Air Guard. Morgan had been "riffed" out of the Navy (he was an Intruder pilot) in the 1990s and had become a military civilian "consultant."

The Governor stood in front of a map of Missouri and the surrounding states. "Gentlemen, let's get this show on the road." He paused and looked out the window. "This state has weathered the storm we've gone through pretty well, considering. No bombs went off in this state and except for some fall-out over Kansas City following the Lawrence, Kansas explosion, civilian losses have been low. We've been lucky that the majority of our National Guard unit happened to be home when it happened."

"The state is still holding together better than some of our neighbors, though. While Arkansas, Kentucky and Tennessee have weathered "The Day" fairly well, others have not. General," the Governor looked at the AG, "what's the situation with the rest?"

The "acting" AG stood up. He had been the Air Guard base commander at Jefferson Barracks prior to "The Day" and still considered himself to be only "acting" until either the missing AG showed up or the state legislature voted him in. "Illinois is a mess, the southern half of the state has refused to send any aid to Chicago. Springfield, Illinois isn't habitable since it was emptied by acute disease problems and unchecked fires, so the state government isn't working, the governor was in Chicago when the bombs went off. It's so bad over there we had to send Guardsmen across the river to rescue our people and their families who lived over there, including Captain Morgan."

"Iowa and Nebraska," continued the AG. "Those two states are pretty much empty right now. Iowa went through the "Lord of Davenport" problem who decided that if there wasn't enough food to put the people on the road or shoot them." Disease and starvation in the midst of plenty I thought, the "Lord of Davenport" had finally been defeated when his rag-tag force of so-called "Knights of Purity" had tried to invade Missouri. The "Battle of Kirksville" stopped him "dead" in his tracks. "Nebraska has had water problems that forced a lot of people out on the road and down into Kansas, but what's left of civilian government is starting to recover."

"Kansas, well, we should call Kansas "Bleeding Kansas" due the total upsurge in anarchy," continued the "acting" AG. "With the nuclear attack on Denver to the west and the explosion in Lawrence in the east, Kansas has collapsed completely, no state government, road-agents ambushing FEMA convoys, small towns fighting over resources, and so on."

"Thank you," said the Governor. "Gentlemen, I was visited yesterday by both the acting Kansas governor and a Kansas Senator who somehow missed being in Washington on "The Day."

"I wonder how he lucked out?" said the Army Colonel.

"Knowing that jerk, he was probably in Kansas, boffing one of his voters," replied the Speaker. Everybody laughed.

"Never," said the Governor with a dead-pan face and rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. Everybody laughed again.

"Anyway," continued the Governor. "Both have requested help from neighboring states; Nebraska, Colorado, and Oklahoma all have their own problems. We still have the capacity to help. I'm ordering the formation of a task force to enter Kansas and assist where we can."

"What about the Federal side?" I asked. "We've still got Whiteman AFB and Ft. Leonard Wood for help, right?"

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Task Force MoBear - The Formation, Part 2

"What about the Federal side?" I asked. "We've still got Whiteman AFB and Ft. Leonard Wood for help, right?"

"Yes and no," interrupted the "acting" AG. He looked over at the Governor. "Sir, Whiteman AFB and Ft. Leonard Wood have their own problems right now. Whiteman took a real hit from the Lawrence fallout and now their B-2s are grounded for lack of fuel. Ft. Wood went through a crisis when the commanding general let all the trainees go home and then declared for the "Lord of Davenport." It took a week of fighting, but the US Army is back in control of Ft. Wood."

"And the Guard itself?" asked the Speaker.

"Well, that's a different story," replied the "acting" AG. "Our attack helicopter unit is sitting on our eastern border with Illinois in case the fighting between southern Illinois and the "Chicago-mob" spill over. That unit is down to 75% strength since it took part with the 1138th Engineer Battalion, the 205th MP Battalion and the 129th Field Artillery unit in the Battle of Kirksville. Those three units are sitting in and around St. Louis with detachments at all of the Mississippi River crossings still up from St. Louis north and still keeping an eye on the northern border as well.."

"The 203rd Engineer Battalion is guarding the south-western portion of the state, but after their disaster work in Kansas City with the 110th Combat Support Brigade, those two units are down to 30% strength." He paused and pulled a notebook out of his pocket. "What else? Oh yes, the 1140th Engineer Battalion is down to 50% strength after taking out that crazed religious zealot and her followers in the Ozarks last month. The rest of the Army Guard is scattered across the state doing everything from guarding FEMA convoys to rebuilding infrastructure to chasing down bandits."

The "acting" AG took a deep breath. "The 131st Fighter Wing is down to 5 F-15s and those 3 F-16s we got just before "The Day." The 157th Air Operations Group is still functioning at Jefferson Barracks and is in contact with US forces overseas and at other military bases across the country with their "uplinks." The 139th Airlift Wing still has some of their planes flying but fuel has become a real issue for them plus the problems they've been having with several armed groups from Kansas. Fort Leavenworth is reporting the same problem with well-armed groups." He closed the notebook. "Overall, sir, fuel is the biggest problem we face right now. We're ok on weapons and ammo. Unit strength is down but morale is steady."

The Governor rubbed his chin, thought for a moment, and said, "Gentlemen, if just half of what I've heard about Kansas is true, then we have to do something. I'm ordering the AG to put together an armored task force called...."

"MoBear," I said.

"MoBear," said the Governor. "I like that. Any ideas where we should form it at, what to use and who to get, my friend?' He looked at me and smiled.

Dumb head, I thought to myself. When am I going to learn to shut-up? Ok, here goes.

"Sir, it would be foolish to try to move west on I-70 considering the damage around Lawrence and how many other large problems with bridges and overpasses. I suggest we start further south at Camp Clark (just outside Nevada, Missouri), cross the Kansas border at Fort Scott, move towards McConnell AFB for the first resupply point and then begin to move northwesterly until we reach a point along I-70 west of Fort Riley." I walked over to the map and pointed at a spot in western Kansas. "Here's a good spot for us to head for, it's got an airport, road and rail connections and sits in the middle of corn country."

"What's the name?" asked the Governor.

"Jericho."

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Task Force MoBear - The Formation, Part 3

"Jericho."

"Ok," said the Governor. "Jericho. That's the objective for the first part of Task Force MoBear." He looked around the room. "Now, what will its composition be? What vehicles will we use? And where are troops coming from?"

Morgan spoke up, "Sir, we should use personnel based on their knowledge and experience, and not just pick one unit. We've got a lot of personnel from the various services without a unit for them to work with. I suggest we use those people."

"Excellent idea," said the Governor. "Vehicles?"

The Army Guard Colonel then said, "Sir, we've got a M1 Abrams and an M-60 here at Jeff City, along with 2 Bradley IFVs and 3 M-113 APCs. We can get from the remains of the Army Reserve unit in St. Louis 2 more M1s and a Bradley..."

"I know where there's another M-60 at in southwest Missouri in a museum," I said. I looked at the "acting" AG. "How far back in equipment should we go?"

"I don't get you," replied the AG.

"Well, I know that the museum that has the M-60 also has a couple of WWII American tanks that are still run able."

"Get them," said the Governor.

"How are we going to get all this stuff to Camp Clark?" asked the Speaker. "It's been awhile since I was in the military, but I know the wear and tear a tank gets running and just getting these vehicles to the Camp Clark is going to be hell on them."

The Colonel spoke again. "That's not a big problem. We've still got railroad connections in the state and having that railroad museum in St. Louis 'donate' those steam engines has really helped. We can get all the equipment we need down to Camp Clark in less than a week. What I worry about is after we cross the state line at Fort Scott."

"I've got an idea," I said. "We can have the Camp Clark garrison check out the rail lines west of Ft. Scott and find out their condition. It it's still good, we won't need to detrain until McConnell AFB. If the tracks are crap, then we use military lowboys from the 1221st Transport Company and from Ft. Wood. We just use our wheeled vehicle assets to scout ahead and unload the armor when we need it."

"That's great," said the Colonel without a trace of sarcasm. He really meant it. "What about airpower?"

The "acting" AG nodded and said, "Not much at this time. With jet fuel and av gas in such low supply, we're holding back as much as we can. Any air support will have to come from Texas. The Texas Air Force is starting to recover aircraft from "The Boneyard" out in Arizona and should have a bunch of them ready for flight operations in the next month or two."

"Gentlemen," said the Governor. Thirty days from now I want Task Force MoBear at Camp Clark ready to go. Colonel Smithson," he pointed at the Army Guard Colonel. "You will be overall Task Force Commander and Captain Morgan will be in charge of all the Intel and Operations and he will be your XO. And I know you'll volunteer for this as well, right? He looked right at me.

"I'll go," I said with a small smile. "Somebody has to keep the army and navy in line."

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Task Force MoBear - The Beginning of the Journey, Part 1

"I'll go," I said with a small smile. "Somebody has to keep the army and navy in line."

Forty-five days ago I said that in the Governor's office in Jefferson City and now all the plans that we had put in motion were coming to a finish at Camp Clark, Missouri.

Camp Clark was an odd place. Located just east of the town of Nevada in southwest Missouri, it had been a military base prior to WWI when Missouri National Guardsmen had trained before heading south to the Texas-Mexico border to chase Poncho Villa, then it had been a training base for the 35th Division in WWI, then an activation area for the Missouri Guard in 1940, a POW camp in WWII, then back to a National Guard base.

I had trained there a number of times in my career, including Army Guard NCO School in the early 1980s. I had been told the camp was haunted with the spirits of all those who had been there before. There was some truth to this statement. For many times as the sun began to sink into the west and the wind began to blow and sweep around the old buildings and the shadows began to deepen, you could sense movement and noises and "see" things out of the corners of your eyes. But when you turned, there was nothing but the wind and the shadows.

But what was real was Task Force MoBear. We had combed the length and breath of the state to find people, vehicles, equipment, and supplies to make it happen. But just gathering all the items was just the first part, the hard part was training this group of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and civilians (yes, civilians) into a well-organized force that would be able to fight (if needed) all the way across Kansas and then back to Missouri. Our mission? "Help the People. Maintain Order. Uphold the Constitution of the United States." Those words came from the mouth of the Governor. Of course he wasn't going. But he was right, we had to do something.

And TF MoBear was impressive. Over 60 vehicles ranging from M-1 Abrams Main Battle Tanks to motorcycles, from M-60 tanks to Humvees, from Bradleys and M113 APCs to 5-ton trucks, it was a force to be reckoned with. Personnel-wise we had over 500 officers and soldiers. Of course, some of the soldiers weren't wearing Army camo uniforms. There were small contingents of Air Force and Navy people as well along with civilians "volunteered for the duration." No, they really did volunteer, swear to god they did.

I walked down the row of vehicles in the fading light. We had trained hard the last twenty days and now the men (and women) of Task Force MoBear were having a going-away party hosted by the state and the garrison of Camp Clark. I stopped in front of my vehicle. It wasn't the newest or the best, but it was mine. "It" was a WWII-era M-24 Chaffee medium tank that we had pulled from a small military museum and along with its museum comrade, an M-4 Sherman, was refurbished and readied for action. We had replaced the gas engine with a more powerful diesel and the old 75mm main gun with a 90mm low-pressure British gun from Ft. Leonard Wood. The tank was going to be one of the scout vehicles for the task force. My crew and I were going to be the "tip of the spear." And we were ready.

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Task Force MoBear - The Beginning of the Journey, Part 2

And we were ready.

The next day dawned bright and early on the small town on Nevada Missouri as Task Force MoBear readied to move out. The column was lined up a block from the town square. Nevada had seen armies move through before. During the Civil War the town had changed hands frequently between Union and Confederate forces. The old county jail was now the local "Bushwhacker" museum. Bushwhackers (no jokes please) were irregulars, both northern and southern and some just criminals who would shoot at each other from ambush, burn homes and farms, and behave so much like those now in Kansas. History had come full circle once again.

I sat in the hatch of the M-24 Chaffee tank and surveyed the area. People were lined up along our "parade" route heading out of town. The Speaker of the Missouri House was present to "send us on our way." He had told me the night before that he wished he was going with us. From any other politician it would have sounded...well, like any other pre-"The Day" politician. But I knew that he had meant it.

The "acting" Kansas Governor was shaking hands with Colonel Smithson and talking a mile a minute to him. Smithson was nodding his head and finally was able to get himself away from the schmuck. The "acting" Governor from Kansas was an oily creep who had wormed his way into much of the planning of the mission. We had fed him just enough information to keep him quiet but not enough to put us in danger. None of us trusted him.

Then it was time to get going. The Speaker of the Missouri House and the "acting" Kansas Governor got on a small reviewing stand with the Nevada mayor and a padre. A high school band was ready to provide music for the ceremony. With a start I saw at least two TV crews and a radio station's crew set up to "record" the event for the public. Who were they and where they from? I grabbed a pair of field glasses and took a closer look.

One of the TV crews was from KMOX-TV from St. Louis and the other had "Free Texas News" on its camera. Huh? What was "Free Texas?"

My thoughts were jarred back into the present when Smithson's voice came over our radio. "Task Force MoBear, start 'em up." The street quickly filled up with the noise of the column firing up its engines. Smithson's Humvee moved forward as the band broke into "God Bless America." His Humvee passed the reviewing stand and Smithson stood up and saluted the "officials" as he passed. Ok, so that's how it's going to be, I thought. A parade for the cameras to help keep the civilian morale up. Well, under circumstances like this, maybe it was a good idea.

Then it was time for the armor to pass (most of the rest of the column was waiting outside of town. Waiting for the armor to catch-up and then get loaded on the tank transporters for the drive to McConnell AFB. The rail lines were too badly blocked by abandoned trains that the army and air force engineers were still trying to move after 3 weeks of work.

After half of the column passed the band, it ended "God Bless America," and then started "This Land Is Your Land." As we passed the band and the reviewing stand I saluted the Speaker and then turned to wave at the crowd. Many of the people were singing and even more were waving and crying. American, Missouri, and Kansas flags were being waved by so many of the people that at times it seemed like an ocean of red, white, and blue colors. I then saluted the camera crews as we passed. Hey, maybe I'd be on the news for my "fifteen seconds of fame." Then again, probably not.

Twenty minutes later, the column was headed out of town. Fifteen miles down the road was the rest of the Task Force. We loaded up the armored vehicles and headed for McConnell AFB. We crossed the state line and entered Kansas.

God help Kansas.

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**Task Force MoBear - The Beginning of the Journey, Part 3**

God help Kansas.

Actually, the first few days of our "journey into the unknown" were fairly uneventful. The column laagered in Fort Scott, Kansas. Ft. Scott is the site of a pre-Civil War cavalry post that is now a state historical site. We parked the column in and around the old fort and met with the city leaders. The town had survived the upheavals very well. A well-armed city militia backed up by a few highway patrolmen and national guardsmen had kept the town safe.

The town had exhausted its fuel supplies and slipped back to a 1930's techno-level, but the people had plenty of food and were far enough off the beaten path to avoid a large crush of refugees and the violent road gangs that had sprung up. What the people wanted was information. Sadly, we knew about as much as they did. But the townspeople did have information that we needed on road conditions to McConnell AFB.

It took us three days to make it to McConnell AFB. Pre-"The Day" one could have made it there in less than three hours. But that was then. We had to take it slow, for the road was clogged in places from abandoned vehicles, force-landed aircraft that couldn't make it anywhere else, and each little town that wanted to know "what's going on?" that we came to.

The most interesting thing that happened was when we stopped for the night between El Dorado and Eureka. We had pulled the column off the road and that's another reason it was going to take so long. It's a lot easier to camp out and move out quickly when there's only one vehicle and four people. Make that 60 vehicles and 500 people and just watch how much time is used setting up and breaking down camp.

Anyway, it was time for "Commander's Day-End Briefing" at Colonel Smithson's Humvee and M-577 Command track (a M-577 is a taller version of the old M-113 APC designed as a mobile command post) column HQ.

There was about ten of us there for the meeting. Logistics, Intel, Scouts, Medical, etc. were all there along with some others. "Gentlemen, "stated Smithson. "Tomorrow we'll be in Wichita and McConnell AFB. I've talked to the base commander there via satellite and we'll refuel and resupply from them."

"Where does McConnell AFB stand in regards to our mission?" asked Captain Morgan.

"Right now the base commander is waiting for orders from higher-up. They can give us vehicle fuel but are severely limited on avgas and jet fuel. Yes, I know that there is a huge refueling wing there, but they just haven't the resupply they need to continue," he paused and thought for a moment. "Gentlemen, our biggest problem is going to come once we get west of McConnell AFB. That's "the wild west" according to the base commander. Twenty miles west of Wichita there's a marauder gang terrorizing the countryside and the air force doesn't have the capacity to deal with them."

"But we do," I said aloud.

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**Task Force MoBear – The Wild West, Part 1**

"But we do," I said aloud.

"That's right," replied Colonel Smithson. "We have the firepower and the resolve to deal with them."

"But do we have the right?" asked Captain Morgan.

"What do you mean?" said Smithson. "We have orders from the Governor and a request from the "acting" Kansas government. What more do we need?"

"We were called up by the government of Missouri, not the Federal government. We are not Federalized personnel, and while we could legally do what we are ordered to do within the confines of Missouri, I'm not so sure we have the authority to arrest or attack anyone outside the Missouri state lines. In theory we need someone with Kansas authority to arrest or attack," stated Morgan. "If not, then we could be no better than the marauders themselves."

"What about defending ourselves?" replied Smithson.

"Well, if we are fired on, we do have the right to defend ourselves," said Morgan.

"Then we'll let the others fire first," said Smithson with a grin. "Then we'll wipe them out."

Everyone laughed at that, including Morgan and myself.

-------------

The next day we reached McConnell AFB located next to the city of Wichita. The city had had problems with refugees coming down and up the interstate, but had weathered the storm fairly well. The airbase had a few surprises for us.

The biggest surprise was what was sitting on the taxiways, the aircraft parking areas, one of the main runways, and every available space possible. Airliners, of every size and company, including freight carriers were parked cheek-to-jowl in a desperate attempt to give the maximum usage of space.

Name the airline and there was probably at least one (if not more) example there. United, Southwest, Delta, UPS, FedEx, Air Lingus, Air France, Mexicana, etc. were all there. 747s, 737, 707s, L-1011s, Airbuses, etc. were all there. McConnell and the city airport had become an emergency stop when "The Day" happened.

And it wasn't just big planes, parked under many of the big planes were all types of small aircraft. From Lear Jets to Piper Cubs and from regional "short-hop" airlines to private planes, all were there. We later found out that many of the open areas outside the city had the remains of other aircraft that had simply run out of fuel and either force-landed or crashed. McConnell and the city airport had become a "graveyard" of aircraft.

The only major "Federal" presence in Wichita was FEMA. They had set up a number of tent cities in and around the city, housing thousands of refugees from Kansas City who had fled down the interstate and those who had flown in via the airliners. FEMA had become overwhelmed and now the Air Force and the local National Guard units were assisting as best as they could. It was a bad deal all around for everybody.

The "FEMA rep.," along with the base commander, and the mayor, all wanted us to stay in Wichita and help defend it. It would have been nice, but our "mission" to help those who need help took precedence over Wichita's.

That evening we got an intelligence brief from the Base Ops section, it wasn't good.

Twenty-five miles west of Wichita there was a marauder gang terrorizing local towns, FEMA convoys, ranches, etc. Reports had them heavily armed and ruthless to everyone. They would be our first problem.

And they wouldn't be the last, either.

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**Task Force MoBear – The Wild West, Part 2**

And "they" wouldn't be the last, either.

Three days later we left behind Wichita and all its problems and headed west towards Dodge City. Reports were sketchy in regards to Dodge City due to a breakdown in communications and lack of travel between Wichita and Dodge City. It was odd, if you had a satellite "uplink" you could still talk to someone on the other side of the world, but it was impossible to call someone 10 miles away.

Twenty miles out of town the convoy stopped and we began to unload the tracked vehicles. We were one tank short, the base commander needed some armor and we had "the Beast." "The Beast" was one of the M1 Abrams tanks we had 'acquired' from an abandoned freight train outside of St. Louis. "The Beast" was called that since its electronics, fire control and engine were all 'marginal' in usefulness and it was nothing more than a large liability to us. But the base commander wanted "armor" and so we traded it for three Hummer H3s that the base had 'acquired' from the local Hummer dealer. They weren't military looking, but they would be perfect for 'covert' patrolling.

We unloaded the tracked vehicles because we had reached the limits of the "patrolled safe area" set up by the Air Force and were getting ready to enter "the wild west." The convoy was going to be split up into three separate sections. The recon group consisting of the H3s, a few armed Humvees, 2 Bradley IFVs and my up-gunned M24 Chaffee tank would move out first. Ten miles back would be the main force composed of the M1s, M60s, Bradley and M113 APCs, Smithson's mobile command post, and enough infantry firepower to knock out any "hostile force" we might encounter.

Ten miles behind the main force would be the support group that had all the tank transporters, fuel trucks, supply vehicles, along with the Sherman, 2 M-113 APCs, and 3 armed Humvees for protection. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best we could do.

------------------------

We laagered for the night and then set out towards Dodge City the next morning.

"Good luck Sergeant," yelled Captain Morgan at me as the recon force prepared to move out. "If you see Kevin Costner in a mailman's uniform say hello for me!"

I laughed and gave him a sloppy salute in return, "And you'll be first to know if we encounter Charlton Heston in the sand next to the Statue of Liberty!" I yelled back.

We headed due west on Highway 54, according to reports the marauder gang had ambushed a FEMA convoy near Kingman 3 days ago. The gang had looted the convoy, raped and then murdered the majority of the people, and then for good measure attacked Kingman itself. The town was reportedly still burning with the marauder gang still in the area.

It was up to us to "clear the road" and "help the people."

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**Task Force MoBear – The Wild West, Part 3**

It took us an extra day to reach Kingman. No, there wasn't any "big" battle involving thousands of combatants and hundreds of tanks and attack helicopters or charging cavalry against a brave group of light infantry huddled together in a small fort. What happened wouldn't have rated much in any "real" war.

Ok, here's what happened…

We were rolling west on Hwy 400/54 with the two of the H3s about 3 miles in front of us. We were two miles from the Waterloo exit when the radio suddenly began to spill out cries of terror and help from the two H3s. They were under attack and radioed that they were coming back and being chased.

"Tango Zulu," I spoke into the handset. "What's chasing you?"

"They got Tyree and Hutch!" The speaker crackled with what sounded like gunfire and screams. "TZ8 is… OH GOD, he's on fire!"

"Tango Zulu!" I heard being yelled back on the speaker, it was coming from Tango Bravo, the Bradley IFV that was commanded by the brother of TZ8. "Hang on, we're coming for you!" I watched as the Bradley began to pick up speed and head west.

"Tango Bravo, STOP!" I screamed into the handset. "Hold your position and let them come to us. If you go racing in there you'll get yourself killed!"

The Bradley locked its tracks and came to a halt. I (and others) watched in stunned disbelief as the commander's hatch popped open and a single figure climbed out and jumped down to the ground and began to run west. The rear ramp then came down and three figures chased after him. They tackled him a few minutes later and dragged him back into the Bradley kicking and screaming.

A minute later a new voice came over the radio, "This is Tango Bravo, we've taken care of the problem and we're ready."

------------------------

Within 5 minutes we were ready for whatever might be coming. I put the Chaffee tank in the center of the median with a Bradley on each side of the divided highway, in between each Bradley and the Chaffee was a .50 caliber machine gun armed Humvee on the road surface. The remaining Humvee and the H3 were positioned 100 yards back as a reserve. We began to move west again, very carefully. We could see smoke ahead over a small rise in the road and the radio had gone silent from the scout H3s.

Suddenly one of the advance scout H3s came flying over the rise towards us and skidded to a halt in front of my tank. We halted, as did the rest of the column. I looked down at the H3.

It had been hit by a large number of small caliber rounds that had crisscrossed the vehicle, flattened two to the tires and shot out the windows. I could see the driver slumped over the wheel as if dead. The front passenger door opened and a young soldier staggered out.

"They're dead, they're all dead," he sobbed. He looked back into the vehicle and then up at me. "It was like a bad movie; they came out of nowhere and shot us up." He looked back into the vehicle again. "I'm the only survivor….." A medic ran up from one of the Bradleys and climbed into the H3; he got back out and shook his head.

I grabbed the handset. "Checkmate King Two this is White Rook, over."

"Go ahead, White Rook," Smithson's voice crackled over the speaker.

"King Two, I've just lost personnel from an ambush near the Waterloo exit. I've got 4 MIA, 3 KIA and one vehicle missing. Awaiting orders, over."

"White Rook, advance and check out the situation. Hold your fire unless fired upon. Keep us posted. Good luck. King Two out."

Good Luck I thought, what the hell is going on as I watched the medic lead the young soldier away from the remains of his friends. What the hell is on the other side of the rise?

--------------------------------------------

We all found out a few minutes later as the column reached the top of the rise, as we were still in a line formation. We moved up to what is considered a "turret-down" configuration where an armored vehicle reaches a point where only the vehicle commander can see the "enemy." It prevents the "enemy" from seeing what they may be facing and protects the AFV as well, though it's not nice for the vehicle commander sometimes.

Down below on the highway was a scene from some demented combination of Dante's Inferno and The Road Warrior. The burning husk of the missing H3 was in the middle of a band of what could only have been called the true "scum of the earth." These people had pulled the bodies (and I hoped to God they were dead by the time these "people" had gotten to them) out and had striped them bare and mutilated the bodies up to and including chopping the heads off.

"Oh my God," crackled the speaker, it was one of the other vehicle commanders.

"Tango Alpha to all Tangos. Weapons off safe and we are in a free fire mode. Do not, repeat do not fire unless fired upon." I paused and then gave the order, "Advance in line with me and halt when I halt."

As the column topped the rise we saw more of what was before us. These "people" were using a number of different vehicles, both four and two wheel variants of vehicles straight from The Road warrior series and every other post-disaster movie that involved "highway gangs." But there was also several other vehicles present as well that worried me immediately.

There was a heavily used (and abused) M-113 APC and several ex-military Humvees, and several eighteen-wheelers, including one with a tanker-trailer.

"All Tangos, do not, repeat do not fire on the tanker." I waited for a minute and then said. "Hold your fire unless they fire first."

It took them a few minutes until they noticed us, in that time period I ordered my crew to load a high-explosive round into the main-gun and then watched as the Bradley's TOW missile launchers swung up into the firing position. The .50 caliber machine gunners pulled their charging handles back, then forward and waited.

I then felt the eyes of several hundred "people" on me and the column. Those "people" stood there in shock as they suddenly realized that they had been caught doing something extremely stupid and wrong. Then one fool with an M-60 machine gun fired up at us from the hip in his best "Rambo-style." Foolish man.

"Thank god," I whispered to myself as the bullets impacted around the column, causing no damage. I dropped down into the tank pulling the hatch shut. "Tango Alpha to all Tangos," I said into the handset. "Fire!"

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**Task Force MoBear – The Wild West, Part 4**

"Fire!"

The tank rocked back as the 90mm gun fired, sending the high-explosive round down into the mass of "people (if you wanted to call these degenerates, "people")." The shell slammed into the side of the M113 APC and exploded. The M113 split open like a burning flower with petals of flame, sending shards of hot metal into the crowd.

The Bradleys each fired off a TOW missile that streaked down towards their targets. One took out a Humvee and the other exploded an eighteen-wheeler that was pulling a flat-bed with a 40mm anti-aircraft gun on it. The .50 caliber gunners on the Humvees fired down into the seething mass of humanity that was running to their vehicles.

"New target?" yelled my gunner.

"Choose your targets, Willie!" I yelled back.

"Yes, sir!" was the reply. "High-explosive!"

"High explosive up," yelled the assistant gunner/loader as he pushed another shell into the breach. "Ready!"

"Stand clear!" yelled the gunner as he pushed the firing button. The tank again rocked back as another shell went downrange.

I popped the main hatch and lifted my head carefully up so I was just above eyelevel with the turrets top. It was complete pandemonium down below as the marauders tried to organize themselves to either flee or attack. We were determined to prevent that.

The Bradleys were firing their 25mm chain guns in short savage bursts that cut down (hell, tore apart is more like it) anyone they fired at. The .50 caliber gunners raked the crowd and vehicles alike.

Suddenly, the tank moved forward a few feet and stopped. I heard the gunner yell, "Beehive!"

The tank rocked back again as the Beehive round exploded right after leaving the barrel, the thousands of small steel spikes lanced into the crowd, killing and injuring more.

"Tango Alpha to all Tangos," I said into the handset. "Move forward, fire on anyone holding a weapon. Humvees hold fast. I want some prisoners."

The tank and the two Bradleys continued the down the rise, firing as we went. The 90mm and the 25mm guns took down any individual or group that attempted to fire on us. Not one of the marauders threw his or her hands up in surrender until…..

The tanker truck suddenly blew up, sending a ball of flame and heat that consumed more than half of the remaining marauders that were trying to decide whether to fight, run or surrender. The fiery death of so many and our overwhelming firepower clinched their decision.

In less than 10 minutes the fighting was all over, out of the 200 plus marauders, only 20 or so were left standing, all the rest were dead or dying.

Just another day of "helping the people."

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**Task Force MoBear – Dodge City Gunfight, Part 1**

Just another day of "helping the people."

"Checkmate King Two this is White Rook, over," I wearily spoke into the tanks' radio handset.

"Go ahead White Rook.," said a voice that I recognized as Col. Smithson's.

"Sit Rep. Our losses, 7 KIA and one vehicle destroyed and one vehicle damaged." I paused and looked around the "battlefield." Some "battlefield," more like a slaughter-house, I thought.

Burned and mangled bodies lay all over the area like red soaked limp dolls. Fires still burned and smoldered in vehicles and on bodies. A horrible smell permeated the air all around us. A smell that combined the odors of burnt flesh, burning plastic and rubber, and fresh blood in a sickening blend that even now was making many of us retch.

"King Two, enemy losses are about 180 KIA and twenty-one POWs. We took out about 30 total vehicles. Request instructions, over."

"White Rook, pull your people off the road and set up an encampment area for us. Keep the prisoners alive and maintain security. Retrieve our losses. We'll be there in about 2 hours, over."

"White Rook to King Two. I understand and will comply. Out."

------------------

We pulled off the highway and set up camp just west of Waterloo. The town itself was empty, empty of life, but not of death. The remains of the inhabitants were scattered all over the town, in the streets, their homes, their vehicles, etc. Men, women, and children, none had been spared the horrors that had descended upon them.

I saw one of the marauders that was being guarded nudge one of his "buds" and point at the remains of a little girl that had been killed and then mutilated. He laughed and then the other one did too. One of the soldiers guarding them stepped up and shot the first one in the face with his "trench gun." The second marauder dropped to his knees and began to beg.

I was too far away to hear what the kneeling marauder was saying, but he didn't convince the soldier. The shotgun went off again.

"Anyone else find this funny?" yelled the soldier to the remaining prisoners. The prisoners all stood there in silence.

---------------------------------

That evening the silence was broken twice by gunfire. The first was when we buried our dead in the town cemetery and gave them a final rifle salute. Task Force MoBear had lost part of our "family." And deep down we knew it wouldn't be the last.

The second gunfire came after we buried the townspeople. One of our scouts found a working backhoe on a nearby farm and used it to scoop out a large mass grave in the town cemetery. We made the remaining marauders put the townspeople into the grave and then covered them over with the backhoe. We briefly questioned the remaining marauders for information. Then we had one of the Bradleys escort them out of town. About 10 minutes later we all heard a burst of gunfire and then the Bradley returned.

The commander opened his hatch and climbed out.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Oh, they all tried to escape," was the reply as he and his crew headed for the chow line.

-----------------------------------------

That night we had another of Smithson's meetings. After it was over, Smithson, Morgan, Dr. Van Buren and I all sat around the camp fire talking.

Dr. Van Buren was one of those civilians who had "volunteered" for this mission. Van Buren had been a well-known Californian surgeon who had worked on the "rich and famous" in Hollywood and had a medical column in many big-city newspapers prior to "The Day." He had been at a medical conference in St. Louis and had nothing to go back to in California. His family was from Los Angeles and he hadn't heard anything from them since "The Day."

"What amazes me," said Van Buren, "Is how these people could go from normal law-abiding people to these murderous degenerate marauders. I just don't get it."

"It amazes me too," replied Morgan. He reached down and pulled a number of small objects out of a bag at his feet. "I took these drivers licenses and other ID cards from both the dead and the living marauders." He started to go through them. "This one was a stock broker in Chicago, this one was a teacher from Houston, and this one belonged to the New Bern, Kansas Rotary Club, all normal people before "The Day."

"Good Lord," said Smithson.

"I know," continued Morgan. "Not long ago these people all had "normal" lives. Then "The Day" came and they all went nuts. I'm sure these people all suffered some form of mental trauma between then and now that caused them to spin out of control. But I haven't a clue why."

"Sounds like a bad movie…." said Van Buren.

"Or a bad TV show." I interjected. The three looked at me. "Ok, a couple of years ago CBS had a TV show about a small town that was set in a post-nuclear war scenario."

"Oh yeah," said Smithson. "What was it called? Jerusalem, right?"

"Naw, it was Bethlehem," said Van Buren.

"Hebron?" asked Morgan.

"Nope, it was called Shiloh and it was set in the Midwest." I replied with a smile. "It only lasted a season and a half and then got cancelled even though people really liked it. It was just another sad tale of a post-nuclear world that the writer or writers couldn't hammer out correctly."

"How so?" asked Van Buren.

"Oh, in the show the people seemed to drift along more concerned about their personal appearance and who was sleeping with whom than what was going on in the outside world. There was no sign of the Federal, state, or county government response or even a single sign of the government except for a some-what befuddled state agriculture official who seemed to be more interested in the blind-girl who happened to be the sister of one of the largest farmers than trying to contact the state capitol and find out what to do."

"And you're seeing parallels now?" asked Smithson.

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**Task Force MoBear – Dodge City Gunfight, Part 2**

"And you're seeing parallels now?" asked Smithson.

"Hell yes, Colonel." I replied. "Just look at what happened here," I pointed towards the remains of the little town. "This town had, pre-"Day," about 250 people, and I'm sure most of them were decent, intelligent people who had some form of a plan in case of a disaster like a tornado. And I'm also sure that the majority of the town could survive for several months cut off from civilization. They had plenty of corn to make fuel and eat and feed their animals."

"But what they failed to do was make provisions or plans for what was to come after such a disaster as "The Day."" I paused and looked once again over towards the now-dark town. "They should have fortified the old two-story school and stocked it so they could stay there in case of an emergency. They didn't bother to take some of the abandoned and broken-down vehicles here on the highway and in town and build some kind of wall around the town. They didn't even bother to put out road blocks or sentry posts. They just sat back and waited for the 'givermint' to show up and hold their hand." I shook my head. "Just like Shiloh, and what scares me is that we're going to see more and more of this mind-set as we continue/"

"And more marauder gangs like today as well," said Van Buren with a sign.

"More than likely," interjected Morgan. "I hope we've got enough ammo to fight our way through."

Smithson sat quietly for a few moments and then got up. "Gentlemen, follow me. I want to show you something."

The three of us followed him to the M-577 Command Post track. He sent the radioman that was sitting on radio watch out for a smoke and told him not to come back until we were done.

Smithson had us sit down and then pulled a cover marked "Top Secret" off a map of the United States. The map had a number of red and green circles, blue, red, yellow and purple lines and yellow filled-in squares.

"Ok," said Van Buren. "Now, what do the colors mean?"

"Red circles are cities destroyed or damaged and green circles are cities that have declared themselves "National Capitals." Purple lines are the boundaries of these so-called mini-USAs. Red lines are dangerous roads, yellow lines are caution roads, and blue lines are current FEMA convoy routes. The yellow filled-in squares are areas where no information comes out."

"What," asked Van Buren?

"According to reports, the yellow filled-in areas are just that, empty of people or so badly damaged that no one can get in. Or too dangerous to enter, for various reasons," replied Smithson.

I leaned forward and began to read aloud the red circled cities, "Atlanta, Baltimore, Boston, Charlotte, Phoenix, Indianapolis, Los Angeles, Hartford, Denver, Houston, Norfolk, Miami, Pittsburgh, San Fran., Chicago, Dallas, Washington, Seattle, Philadelphia, and St. Paul."

I counted twenty or twenty-one cities gone or heavily damaged (the red circles were totally filled in except for Dallas, which was only half-filled). Then I noticed a few more red circles that weren't filled in. One was colored both green and red. "What about those?"

"Ahh, now these are the interesting ones," said Smithson. "New York was saved at the last minute by a combination of luck and good police work. It's rumored that a last-minute call from somebody alerted the Federal government and the word went out and several cities were able to survive that were targets. Columbus was reported to be a target, but no bomb was ever found in or around the city."

"Dallas was damaged when the bomb went off near the stadium where the Cowboys play, or played," continued Smithson. "The story I heard from the news reporters from Texas back in Nevada, Missouri was that the Texas Rangers chased the van carrying the bomb into the stadium parking lot and then…."

"And then what," asked Van Buren?

"The bomb went off," said Morgan.

"Yup," said Smithson. "Lawrence, Kansas blew up. From the interrogations of the people captured in New York, the Lawrence bomb was intended for Kansas City. Best guess, the driver either got lost or the bomb went off early or late." Smithson tapped the map in southwestern Utah. "This is the one that puzzles us all. According to the Utah state government, a lone Utah Highway Patrolman was doing a traffic stop with a white van with out-of-state plates, and then…nothing." Smithson shook his head. "That cop saved a city. I hope they build him a statue someday."

"The green circles are the so-called "Regional Capitals" that each claim to be the "true seat of federal government."" Smithson paused, "In reality, they don't control as much as they claim. The three with the best claims are San Antonio, where the Transportation Secretary took the oath of office two days after the attacks. Rome, New York is where the Secretary of the Army took the oath of office three days after the attacks and Sacramento, California where the governors of California, Oregon, Washington, Hawaii, Alaska, Montana and Idaho along with their Senators and Representatives that weren't at ground zero in D.C. voted in the Secretary of Education as President two weeks after "The Day."

"Cheyenne, Montgomery and Columbus are the other three "Regional Capitals" that are also competing for the "hearts and minds" of the people," said Smithson.

"So who do we support?" I asked.

"The governor of Missouri and no one else," said Smithson. "Officially, the state of Missouri is leaning towards San Antonio due to the claim of the Transportation Secretary. Columbus hasn't really been able to push its forces past the western Ohio border due to the destruction of Indianapolis and the war conditions in Illinois." He tapped the state of Illinois whose center was colored yellow. "And now I've gotten information that doesn't leave this vehicle."

"I don't like the sound of this," said Van Buren.

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**Task Force MoBear – Dodge City Gunfight, Part 3**

"I don't like the sound of this," said Van Buren.

"Maybe we'll have to take a blood oath," said Morgan jokingly.

Smithson shook his head and laughed, "Nothing like that, but this is very Top Secret". He pulled out a clear plastic overlay and attached it to the map. There were several new additions to the map including several changes to the borders and several large red arrows along with a smaller set of two green arrows. The red arrows were coming out of Nevada and Wyoming. The green arrows were moving up from New Mexico and Texas.

"Ok," said Smithson. "When the bombs went off nobody had a clue who or what was behind the attack. But there were several clues. The first clue was the unknown phone call that was received by the Federal Government just prior to the attack; it's known that it came from a "mole" in the terrorist camp. The second was the captured New York bomb. What most people don't know is that each bomb has…."

"Its own signature based on the weapon grade material," I interrupted. "You put a sample of the material in a gamma-ray spectrometer. The machine measures the energy of the photoelectrons generated by the gamma radiation within the instrument. The precise energy state of the electrons identified both the element and the isotope of the source. What it boils down to is each weapon shows where the weapons grade material comes from." I looked at the other three who were all sitting with stunned looks on their faces. "What?"

"You amaze me," said Morgan.

"He's right," nodded Smithson. "I forgot that you were a Disaster Preparedness NCO before this all happened. The weapon turned out to be an ex-Soviet tactical nuke that had gone missing while enroute to the United States. In fact some twenty-six or so bombs disappeared. Analysis of some of the fall-out confirmed that all the bombs that went off were from that missing shipment."

"Son of a…." muttered Van Buren. He put his head down. "Those damn Russians."

"No," replied Smithson. "The Russians had nothing to do with it."

"Then who," asked Van Buren?

"The exact numbers of people involved are still unknown, but we now understand that the actual planning came from within our own federal government. And that brings us to this," Smithson pointed to the red arrows.

Morgan, Van Buren and I all sat there in stunned disbelief, what kind of inhuman monster would do this?

Smithson nodded, "I know what all three of you are thinking, it's the same thoughts that went through my mind when I was transmitted this information three days ago from Jeff City. I hope to God I'm there when we catch the person who gave the order, if he or she is still alive."

"Anyway," continued Smithson. "What's happened with these regional "mini-USAs" is that they have all drawn borders with a pen and claimed all this land as their own. There's an "Army of the West" coming out of Nevada and Wyoming and moving east. The two regional capitals of Cheyenne and Sacramento have combined as the "New USA" and are claiming to be the current Federal Government. One wing is coming southeast into western Nebraska and northwestern Kansas. The second wing is looping south through northern Arizona and New Mexico."

"And the green arrows?" I asked.

"The green arrows are the forces of the Republic of Texas and the state governments of Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Arizona." Smithson smiled. "Texas calls itself a dual-country right now. Its state government has said that it considers itself both an independent country and an US state at the same time."

Smithson reached under his seat and pulled out a small binder. "Each of you read through this. It's a dull read though, so I'll give you all a quick synopsis. It is believed that at least one of the attack planners is currently on the staff as an advisor to the "President" of the western "mini-USA. It is believed that he is searching for the final missing nuke and the person who took it. That person is believed to be hiding somewhere in northwestern Kansas."

"Why," I asked? "He can't want the bomb that bad. I mean in theory Missouri is a major nuclear power since we have Whiteman Air Force Base with the B-2s and all their nuclear weapons would make that little tactical nuke a fart in a whirlwind."

"Intelligence believes that the real target is not the bomb itself but the person who took said bomb. He or she holds the key in identifying the true culprits in charge of the attack," continued Smithson.

"How do we find him," asked Morgan? "Kansas is a big place with lots of places to hide."

"We can only hope that he or she finds us. Until that time, we will continue on our mission to help the people of Kansas as best as we can. And yes, if the "Army of the West" shows up and wants to fight, then we let them fire first and then…"

"We kick their ass," said Van Buren quietly.

"Right," said Smithson. "Tomorrow, we'll reach Kingman, god knows what condition that town is in and after that is Dodge City. There we'll meet up with representatives of the Texas government and military that has a base at the city airport. We will also receive fuel and ammo reloads for our equipment there. I want everyone to be extra careful these next few days. We've received information that a larger marauder gang is operating around the eastern side of Dodge City and they have some kind of armor support."

"I hope they know that they're supposed to lose," I said quietly.

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**Task Force MoBear – Dodge City Gunfight, Part 4**

"I hope they know that they're supposed to lose," I said quietly.

"If not," replied Smithson. "I'm sure they'll figure it out pretty soon. Let's call it a night gentlemen, tomorrow may be a hot one and we'll all need a good rest"

As we all got up to leave for some highly needed sleep, Smithson stopped me.

"Tell SGT McPherson to use better fire discipline the next time captured marauders try to "escape.""

"I don't know what you're talking about sir," I said with a straight-face.

Smithson nodded, "Of course you don't." He looked around and then said, "What I'm trying to say is this. Twenty-five mike-mike ammo is too important to use on scum, tell him next time to use the ammo in the M-16s, ok?"

"I'll tell him sir."

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The next day we passed through Kingman, or what was left of it, that is. The town looked like old photos of the remains of WWII German cities. It looked like a major battle had been fought there. But it looked like the fighting was mostly one sided in that the causalities appeared to be mostly civilians. We did a quick look around town and found no clues and no survivors as to who had attacked the town and why.

That is, until we got a mile past the town and came upon a smashed ex-military Humvee. There were no bodies present, but it appeared to have been hurriedly repainted a dull black and had a crude picture of a bird painted on the hood.

Upon checking the vehicle I found that, while damaged, the military radio still had enough power from the vehicle's batteries left for us to check out the last radio frequency the radio had been set to. I dialed that frequency into one of our Humvee's radios and listened. No luck, only static. I reported my findings back to Smithson.

"Just keep headed west, we're still about an hour behind you," was the reply I received.

------------------------------

Two hours later I got a radio message from one of our motorcycle scouts. She told me that she and her partner had come upon a military-style encampment five miles west of my then-current position. After discussing the situation, I agreed to come forward in one of the armed Humvees (the tracked vehicles would be far too noisy for this). I then radioed in my situation back to the main body; I got the green light to go ahead with my mission.

A little while later, I was standing in the tree line that encircled a large farm just north of Highway 400/54 east of Pratt, Kansas. The farm seemed abandoned yet well maintained. I looked at SSgt Weikamp and asked her why it looked the way it did.

"When we pulled in here after we spotted that," she replied, pointing west towards a large set of buildings about 1600 meters west of our position. "I got the feeling that there were eyes watching us from that barn over there, but after we checked it out, there wasn't much but some footprints headed north. My best guess, a family of four or five. That's based on footprint size and depth."

"Wow, you're damn good," I replied with a smile.

"Thanks, I got that from all my work as a crime scene investigator with the St. Louis Police Department." She took off her Kevlar helmet and ran her fingers through her blonde hair. "I always knew I should have applied for a part in that short-lived spin-off, "CSI:STL." She laughed, "But I figured, why give up my day job? Plus the show only lasted 6 episodes."

I shook my head; you could never figure Bobbi Weikamp out, was she serious or just kidding? But she was a great scout who knew her job better than most soldiers ever did. She was great. Along with her civilian job, she had been an intelligence analyst with the 157th AOG (Air Guard) out of Jefferson Barracks, Missouri, so she knew more than most.

I turned and looked west through the binoculars at the military encampment. It wasn't so much as an encampment as a "gaggle." But this group was armed.

"I count 7, no 8 tanks," said Weikamp. "Looks like 3 M1s and 5 M-60s."

"No, 3 M1s, 2 M-60s and rest of them are M-48s, check out the muzzle brakes on them, that's a sure sign of an M-48 Patton."

"I think you're right," she replied. "Oh, crap, I hope I'm wrong but is that artillery? It's in the back next to those two boxes on tracks."

I focused my binoculars on what she was talking about and whistled softly, "Oh my God, that's a 203mm self-propelled gun and those "boxes on tracks" are MLRS mobile rocket artillery. Who are these guys?"

"I don't know," said Weikamp. "But what bothers me is no flag, the vehicles are all painted black with that goofy bird insignia, and it seems that most of them are wearing some form of black BDUs. It doesn't make sense."

"I know, they're not dressed like soldiers but they're far too organized to be a simple marauder gang." I looked at her and shrugged. "Keep an eye on them and I'll call Smithson. Maybe he knows what's going on.

I stood next to the Humvee radioed in my report on our secure scrambled radio net. Smithson was aghast. He told me to remain where I was and if spotted or approached we were to get our butts back to the main body ASAP. I signed off and started to put the handset back when I heard a voice behind me.

"Freeze, butthead," came the voice. A second voice chimed in. "You in the driver seat and you at the .50 cal., do the same."

I turned my head very slowly and saw two guys in black BDUs, black field gear (including body armor), and each was armed with a short black subgun.

"Who are you," asked the first one?

"I'm with Task Force MoBear." I replied. "Who are you?"

"I'm asking the questions, jerk." Said the first one. "Looks like we got some prisoners. Mr. Jackson will be pleased."

"Who's Mr. Jackson?" said a voice from behind the two gunmen. The two gunmen spun around.

There was Bobbi, she had taken off her field gear, BDU jacket and Kevlar helmet. She smiled and thrust her chest out. That was all the distraction she needed as the two clowns looked towards her chest. She then moved fast, real fast.

Before any of us could do anything Bobbi took two quick steps forward, shoved a knife into the first clown's neck then kicked the second one in the crotch. She ignored the stabbed one as he went down like a sack of potatoes and spun the second one around. She put him into a headlock and then with no fuss or muss, snapped the jerk's neck. It took longer to explain what happened then the time it took.

I just stood there and looked at Bobbi. "Idiots," was all she said as she walked over to where she had left her gear.

I looked down at the two dead men. I searched them (while wrinkling my nose up at the smell of what happens when a person dies suddenly and all the muscles relax); the only thing of interest was the patch on the upper left sleeve of both men. It was a circle with a black bird and the initials, "R.S.S., Inc." on it. I reached down and ripped one of the patches off. I told the other two soldiers in the Humvee to grab the weapons and ammo.

Then I heard gunfire and what seemed to be the sound of a small airplane engine coming from the west. I shoved the patch into my pocket and ran back to the tree line. When I got there I found Bobbi leaning up against a tree with her binoculars up to her eyes. She looked at me and handed them to me and said. "Take a look, there's a small plane circling that bunch and the ones on the ground are shooting at it."

"This day is getting better and better by the second," I replied sarcastically.

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**Task Force MoBear – Dodge City Gunfight, Part 5**

"This day is getting better and better by the second," I replied sarcastically.

"Looks like a civilian Cessna 152," said SGT Bobbi Weikamp. "I think it came from the northwest and is circling about 500 yards out from the "Black Force."

"Black Force?" I asked.

"Gotta call them something," she replied.

Then it happened. The plane took a burst from a vehicle mounted machinegun and started to smoke from its engine. The plane wobbled and turned east.

East and straight for us.

The plane skimmed over the tree line and almost made it until the right wing dipped down and clipped a tree. The plane spun down and crashed in the median strip, wrenching off its right wing and cart wheeling over twice, coming to rest on its right side.

"Oh hell," I said. "That's going to draw attention to us. You know those goofs are going to check out the wreckage for Intel and we need that Intel as well. Let's go!" I said as I tossed Bobbi back her binoculars and headed for the Humvee. Bobbi headed for her motorcycle, or so I thought.

The Humvee shoot out of the farmyard like a rocket and we skidded to a halt on the far side of the plane wreck. I got out and ran to the smoldering remains of the blue and white monoplane. I peered into the cockpit through the pilot's side door window.

The pilot and observer were still strapped into their seats. They both had on camouflage BDUs with name and "Texas Air Force" tapes on their uniforms. The pilot had embroidered wings and Captain's bars on his uniform as well. The observer had been decapitated and the pilot had a large piece of aircraft metal in his chest, which had pinned him like a bug to the seat. His head turned slowly as I wrenched open the door.

"Don't worry sir," I said in what I hoped was a soothing tone. "We'll get you out and we'll get you to a doctor."

The pilot gave a weak smile and shook his head. "No you won't. I'm done for and I know it. Here," he said, thrusting a 35mm camera and one of those metal notebook cases that cop's use when they write accident reports out into my hands. "Take these and get out of here before those SOBs get here." He coughed up blood. "Go, dammit."

An explosion nearby rocked us and dropped rocks and gravel on us. I looked up and saw one of the black tanks out on the highway, its main gun was pointed our way and a ring of smoke was around the end of the barrel.

"We gotta get out of here," screamed the driver at me. I jumped into the front passenger seat and had barely got the door closed as the vehicle roared away from the crash site and headed east. I looked around and yelled, "Where's Bobbi and her partner?"

"Back there," yelled back the machine gunner, as he crouched down into the vehicle. "She's putting something on stakes out by the wreck."

Huh? I thought. What is she doing? I crawled out of my seat and peered over the lip of the gun turret.

Bobbi and her partner were climbing on their cycles and were getting ready to haul ass back east as well. But they had done something that was sure to anger the "Black Force" to a new height.

Bobbi had cut the heads off the two jokers she had killed and put them on stakes near the plane crash. I made a mental note to never make her angry, ever.

I shook my head and crawled back to my seat as the Humvee screamed down the highway. I got on the radio and called the main body. I gave Smithson a quick Sit Rep, but I decided to leave out what Bobbi did with the heads.

I leaned out the window and looked back, Bobbi and her fellow scout had almost caught up with us, but what bothered me was what was following us. The whole "Black Force" was moving onto the highway and heading east, towards us. It didn't look good.

I got back on the secure radio frequency and gave Smithson the bad news. He replied that the main body was digging in on the western side of Kingman and he had the recon unit fall back as well to the south side of an east-west ridge south of the highway near Kingman. We were to head there and await further orders. He gave me the map reference and wished me the best of luck.

---------------------------------------------------

We were able to outrun our pursuers and turned down a county road that ran southwards to a low ridge about 500 yards south of the main highway just before we got to the ruined town of Kingman. There behind the ridge was my tank, the two Bradleys and the other armed Humvee. It was good to be home.

I got the two Bradley commanders, Bobbi, and myself to have a quick briefing. We stood on the ridge with binoculars and looked the area over.

Down in Kingman I could see that the tanks and APCs had been dug in around and in the ruins of the town's western side. Some of the tanks had driven right into the eastern side of a building and the crews had smashed openings for the gun barrels in the western side. The other vehicles had put camouflage netting and building parts on the vehicles to have them "blend" in with the surroundings.

Then the orders came in from Smithson. We were to hold our position until the main body opened fire and the enemy (whoever they were) were pinned down, then we were to advance to a firing position on the ridge and fire, then attack into their rear. It would be just like the "Battle of Kirksville" said Smithson, where the Missouri Guard had defeated the "Lord of Davenport" only a few months ago.

I just hoped the "enemy" hadn't heard about the "Battle of Kirksville." It might get bloody.

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**Task Force MoBear – Dodge City Gunfight, Part 6**

I just hoped the "enemy" hadn't heard about the "Battle of Kirksville." It might get bloody.

I looked around and saw Bobbi's partner.

"Corporal, take this camera and notebook to Captain Morgan pronto!" I handed him the items I had gotten from the dieing Texas pilot. "Tell Captain Morgan where we got these from." I took a moment to scribble a quick note to Morgan describing what happened. I left out what Bobbi did with the two dead guys. The soldier ran down the hill, jumped on his motorcycle and headed out.

"OK commanders. We hold behind this ridge until the battle is joined then we proceed to a hull-down position and open fire on the rear targets, on my command we will cross the ridge and move swiftly down to that small farmstead." I pointed down to a small collection of farm buildings to the northwest down from the ridge. "We will take up covered positions and continue to rake their right flank. At my signal we will advance into their rear area and fire at any targets of opportunity. If I'm taken out, then Staff Sergeant Albertson," I pointed at one of the Bradley IFV commanders, "will take charge. The Humvees will be used as our reserve. Any questions?"

There were none. The two Bradley commanders headed down the hill. I looked at Bobbi until the other two were out of earshot. "Why did you stick those guys heads on stakes?"

She flashed one of those movie-star grins and said," Why? Simple answer. I knew it would do one of two things. It would either scare them so much they wouldn't chase us or piss them off so much that they'll throw all caution to the wind and come after us without any scouting or flankers."

"I hope that you're right." I looked west with my binoculars. There was a dust cloud headed our way, something told me it wasn't a welcome committee. "Where are you going to be?" I asked her.

She pointed down the ridge to the west. "I'll be down there about a 100 yards and I'll keep an eye out for you, ok?"

"Be careful," I replied.

"Cho," she said and headed down for her motorcycle. She jumped on it and roared off.

I turned my gaze back to the approaching dust cloud. As it got closer I could begin to pick out the leading vehicles. The "Black Force" group was coming on in a modified wedge-shaped skirmish-line of attack that had an all-black M1 Abrams main battle tank in the lead with the remaining heavy tanks in an extended wedge. The second line consisted of all the APCs and artillery. But it was what was in the air that bothered me.

Buzzing over the column like angry hornets were three black helicopters. Two of them were the small "Jet Rangers" type of helicopters so favored by state highway patrols and TV stations. But it was the third that made my eyes bug out. It looked like an Apache attack helicopter on steroids. It was a Cheyenne.

The Cheyenne had been built as a 1970s US Army's answer to the expected mass of Soviet tanks that were to pour across the German border when the Russians attacked. But cost overruns and improved anti-aircraft counter-measures put the massive "flying tank" to rest. The few that had been built had ended up as museum pieces. Somehow, someone had found one, made it flyable and found people crazy enough to fly it.

One of the black Jet Rangers moved forward of the column and flew down the highway towards Kingman. The copter circled around the town and then the door gunner opened fire on sometime in town.

"Oh, oh, the cat's out of the bag now."

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**Task Force MoBear – Dodge City Gunfight, Part 7**

Upon surveying the carnage of the field after the battle of Waterloo, the Duke of Wellington was reported to have said, "The only thing worse than a battle lost is a battle won." I always wondered how true that statement was, but after the battle outside of Kingman, Kansas, I knew that he had been right.

The battle had started when one of the "Black Force" light helicopters had circled over the west side of the town and had apparently spotted one of our M-113 APCs that had not been completely camouflaged. But that one act may have helped us more than we knew.

The M-113 returned fire on the helicopter but missed by a mile. But the M-113 that was armed with the 20mm Vulcan anti-aircraft gun didn't. The helicopter was ripped apart and exploded. That caused a ripple effect in that the advancing tanks all suddenly opened fire on the town while on the move. It was apparent that many of the enemy tanks either didn't have working main gun stabilizers or crews trained enough to operate them correctly. Most of the shells either impacted short of the town or went high over the western outskirts of the town to fall behind our front line.

I heard Smithson's voice ordering the Task Force tanks and APCs to hold their fire until the enemy tanks reached the firing point. The firing point was a bright red car that had been dragged out and put just off the highway, when the lead tank passed it, the task force would open fire.

The black tanks continued to advance, firing as they went. The second line stopped and the artillery began to set up for firing. The M-203 self-propelled gun stopped, dropped its recoil spade and began to load its first shell; two trucks trundled up to it and began to unload reloads.

The two "boxes on treads" stopped, slewed left and began to raise their firing boxes, if Smithson didn't give the order to fire and for us to attack, otherwise hell was going to rain down on Task Force MoBear. Above the attacking force the Cheyenne and her smaller consort cut to our right flank and lined up for an attack run. It didn't look good.

Then the lead tank passed the red car and the front line of Task Force MoBear exploded in fire and smoke. Smithson had decided to have the M1s with having their 120mm smoothbore cannons fire their APDSFSDU (Armor Piercing Discarding Sabot Fin Stabilized Depleted Uranium) rounds. These shells hit their targets like a hot explosive needle going through butter. The results were impressive. The first three enemy tanks exploded, their turrets lifting off their chassis in balls of red-hot fire. Four more of the enemy vehicles exploded as other shells and missiles reached their targets. Then our tanks popped smoke and obscured their positions, but they could still see. It's nice to have functioning thermal sights, the enemy didn't.

Then the 203mm fired straight into the smoke, it was followed immediately by a huge explosion as its massive shell made contact with one of our vehicles.

"Get down there and take out the artillery!" I heard Smithson's voice over the radio.

I flipped the switch to the recon channel and ordered the recon troop to charge towards the artillery as fast as possible. I held on tight to the turret as we crested the ridge and headed down into the fight. As our tank cleared the ridge I looked back to see one of the Bradley's sitting on top of the ridge firing its TOW launcher. Suddenly it exploded.

"Dear god," I yelled into the radio handset. "Don't stay on the ridge; you're setting yourself up as a target. All recon elements head for the artillery!" Our tank and the rest of the recon section continued to race for the artillery. I saw in front of us an M-48 Patton with its barrel pointed over us. It was the one that had taken out the Bradley.

"Willie!" I yelled down into the turret. "Take out the Patton to your right! Forty-five degrees right!"

"Right!" I heard the gunner yell back as the turret spun right and then fired. The shell hit the turret and exploded. As we passed the enemy tank I was surprised to see the enemy tank's turret still turning to follow our movement. Then I realized that the enemy tank had "reactive armor blocks" attached to the turret that would explode when hit by a large caliber shell, thereby negating the attack.

My gunner continued to swing the turret back towards the enemy tank as we raced away from it and then fired again. Again the reactive armor on the enemy's turret exploded and negated the shell. Then Willie did something I didn't expect. He fired a smoke shell at the tank and it hit the back side of the tank. White smoke exploded out and covered the enemy tank, hiding us from its view.

We closed on the enemy artillery and my gunner fired at one of the MLRS launcher. The high explosive shell hit the launcher box dead on and the box broke open. It was empty! The MLRS launchers were a bluff, or so we thought.

The second one then fired a single missile. The missile roared out of its tube and lanced up into the sky and then exploded at low altitude over the town. The missile shot out thousands of small sub-munitions that exploded like fireworks over our dug-in vehicles. The small black helicopter was caught in the rain of the bomblets and exploded as well, sending its flaming wreckage into the fiery maelstrom.

The Cheyenne roared overhead and fired its missiles into the firestorm as well. I then saw one of the machine gun armed Humvees fire at the Cheyenne. The bullets bounced off the armored plate and the Cheyenne turned and chased after the moving Humvee. The helicopter fired its chain gun and the Humvee burst into flame.

Then my gunner fired at one of the trucks near the M203 self-propelled gun. The truck exploded in a massive blast that caused other massive explosions as the other truck and the M203 went up as well. The remaining Bradley under my command stopped and fired its last TOW missile at the last MLRS launcher. The wire-guided missile slammed into the upright launcher box. The missile exploded, but other than the small blast nothing happened. The rest of the tubes were empty. Except for that one missile, the MLRS threat had been a hollow one.

Then suddenly the Cheyenne came out of the smoke and fired at us. I watched in terror as the chain gun's shells hit the tank, and then as quick as it happened the Cheyenne roared by us and disappeared back into the smoke. The tank lurched to one side as it ran off its broken right tread that had been damaged by the aerial attack. We had become a nonmoving armored pillbox and a nonmoving armored target as well.

The Cheyenne roared out of the smoke once again and fired at the still moving Bradley in front of us, the Cheyenne missed and then did a hard-bank to the left and disappeared back into the smoke. What had made it leave so fast?

Then I heard something over the sounds of small-arms fire and the occasional explosion as burning ammunition went up. It was the sound of jets, fast jets coming in from the west at low level. I readied the turret mounted .50 caliber machine gun for what I knew the "Black Force" had called up, an air strike.

But then the radio crackled and I heard Smithson's voice. "All MoBears, do not fire at the jets, repeat, do NOT fire at the jets. They are ours!"

The jets roared over the battlefield at extreme low level, dispersing much of the smoke that hung over the carnage in their wake. The jets were a pair of elderly F-4 Phantoms, a massive twin-engine jet that had served well into the late 1990s until retirement. Big, strong and dependable, the F-4 had returned to combat once again.

But the clearing smoke revealed more than just burning wreckage and what remained of Task Force MoBear. Off to one side hovered the Cheyenne, it was alone now. It peeled off and began race away. The Phantoms saw the big helicopter and came back for the attack. I grabbed my binoculars and watched in wonderment, what could the Cheyenne do against two high-performance jets?

The Cheyenne cut power to its rear propeller and came to a fast hover as the Phantoms roared by the Cheyenne. The helicopter then fired off its last missile that hung off the far right pylon; it was a Sidewinder air-to-air missile.

The missile raced at supersonic speed towards the Phantoms, the two Phantoms broke away from each other and the missile chased after one of them. The jet fired off some flares to try and distract the missile, but the missile bored in on the hottest item in its sight, the Phantom.

The missile exploded near the right engine of the Phantom. The explosion took off the tail of the plane and the jet tipped over and crashed into the ground in a ball of flame. There were no survivors.

The other Phantom banked around and came in from above and behind the Cheyenne. The big black helicopter tried everything in the book as it attempted to escape, but the Phantom launched its two Sidewinders and one of them made contact with the hot exhaust of the helicopter. The explosion took off the main rotor blades and the high-powered Cheyenne slammed into the ground and died.

The battle was over.

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Later that day, I rode around the battlefield with Captain Morgan in a Humvee, doing a battlefield inspection and salvage decision. We had to decide what to save and what to abandon. It wasn't a hard job. Most of the "Black Force" equipment and vehicles were ruined beyond repair. Of all the enemy vehicles, only one of the M-48s had survived along with a few trucks that had been abandoned by their drivers.

"Who were these guys?" I asked Morgan.

"As far as we can tell, they called themselves the "Dalton and James Gang."

"You've got to be kidding me," I replied.

"Nope, they wore black and painted all their vehicles black because in true Hollywood fashion, the bad guys wear the black hats." We both laughed at that.

"Then who were those two guys that Bobbi killed back at the farm?" I asked.

"Good question," said Morgan. "Oh, by the way, Smithson wants to give you a promotion and a medal for getting that information you got from that crashed plane to us. That info saved the day. Those weren't really our planes."

"They weren't?"

Morgan shook his head, "They were from the Texas Air Force, and their forward base is the Dodge City Airport, that's where the light plane that got shot down this morning was from. The jets were scrambled after I convinced them we were the good guys via codes and passwords that we both had. Plus a satellite phone call to Austin from the Missouri Governor helped."

"Wow," was all I could say. Texas had its own Air Force and they had advanced as far as southern Kansas. The so-called "Army of the West" was headed this way towards Kansas as well. What was this world coming to?

"Those guys Bobbi killed were part of a civilian security company that had been hired by the Federal government right after "The Day" to help protect FEMA camps and convoys. I guess those guys got roped into joining this gang along with ex-military personnel who went bad," continued Morgan. "I want to thank you for saving my life too."

"Why and how?" I asked.

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**Task Force MoBear – Dodge City Gunfight, Part 8**

"Why and how?" I asked.

"Oh, when your force knocked out the MLRS systems, they only got off one missile and if all the missiles had fired…..." he looked at me funny as I shook my head.

"There was only one missile, that's all they had. Those MLRS units were a bluff."

"Oh, well…." Morgan looked out the window for a minute. "Smithson still thinks you deserve a medal and a promotion and I agree with him."

I shrugged my shoulders, "That's nice. But since we're not federalized and there's no single federal government, he can't hand out federal military medals and I'm not sure that he can promote me either. Not that that means much, since we're really not getting paid and there's nothing out here worth buying and nobody's taking US dollars until the federal government is restored."

"It's still a nice thought," replied Morgan.

"That it is," I said. "Here's some more junk to look at." I stopped the Humvee near a group of three damaged "Black Force" vehicles that sat off from where the majority of the fighting had occurred. "I'll take a look at the M-113." I said as I put the vehicle in park and stepped out of the Humvee.

"I'll take those two trucks," said Morgan.

It only took me a few minutes to realize that the M-113 armored personnel carrier was nothing more than a tomb for the poor devils that had been trapped inside when a shell had hit it from the side. The resulting explosion and fire had pulped the crew and passengers and then fried the remains into a disgusting omelet of bones and tissue.

I gagged and then jumped down from the paint-blistered top, pulled out a can of red spray paint and sprayed a big red "X" on both sides. The red "X" meant that it was non-salvageable and could be avoided by our recovery teams tomorrow. So far most of what we were finding was being marked with a red "X."

I walked over to where Morgan was supposed to be. But when I got closer I heard an angry voice.

"You and your kind wiped us out, you murderous SOBs!"

"Sir, I really think you should put down that gun," I heard Morgan say in a calm voice.

Gun! With that I drew my .45 pistol (no wimpy 9mm for me) and moved carefully towards the voices. I looked around a truck cab to see the back of a black-uniformed individual holding a gun in its left hand and pointing it right at Morgan.

From behind the individual looked like it had gone three rounds with a grizzly bear. The right arm hung limp and bloody and the rest didn't look much better. It continued to yell at Morgan and I could see that the individual's left hand was white against the gunmetal of the pistol.

I stepped around the truck, aimed my pistol and fired two rounds.

Both rounds impacted into the figure and it dropped like a sack of wet laundry to the ground. I walked carefully up to the downed figure and kicked the pistol away.

"I owe you my life again," said Morgan.

I looked down at the dead figure, "When you have to shoot, shoot, don't talk." I then smiled at Morgan, pulled out my spray can and sprayed a big red "X" on the back of the dead figure. "I wonder who he was?"

"He said his name was Mr. Robert Jackson," replied Morgan. "Like that was supposed to mean something."

"I think he was in charge," I said in passing. "What's in these trucks?"

"One's got can goods; the other was a mobile command post," said Morgan. I was just starting to climb into the command truck when this guy stepped out and….. Wait a minute, what do you mean you think he was in charge?"

Oh, oh, I thought. Oh well. I told Morgan all that had happened at the little farm this morning. When I was done Morgan just shook his head.

"Remind me to never say anything to that woman that might make her angry," he said as we both laughed. "And she actually put those two guys' heads on spikes?"

"Yup," I said. "Let's check out the command vehicle, maybe it'll have some answers."

-------------------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Answers, and more Questions, Part 1**

"Yup," I said. "Let's check out the command vehicle, maybe it'll have some answers."

We both started to climb the steps into the back of the truck. I put my hand on Morgan's shoulder and shook my head. "Let me check first for any booby-traps."

I looked under the steps for a pressure switch, nothing. I slowly climbed the steps and looked at the floor of the vehicle's rear end. "When he stepped out," I pointed back towards the deceased Mr. Jackson. "Did he step out funny, like he was stepping over a wire?"

"No," replied Morgan. "He just walked out with his pistol pointed at me."

"Ok," I said, getting down on my hands and knees and moved slowly on the floor of the vehicle. I scanned around slowly for a trip-wire as I continued into the vehicle. After checking out all the floor areas I began to slowly look everywhere I could for a possible explosive device or anything that looked out of place.

"Where did you learn to do that?" asked Morgan from outside.

"It's amazing what you can learn while a being a combat engineer and having a very paranoid attitude towards bad people who do bad things."

I stopped at the entrance and stood up and moved back through the vehicle looking for anything else that might become a problem. There was nothing. "There, I think it's safe."

"You think?" said Morgan with a smile.

"I've been accused of that a number of times."

Morgan entered and the two of us began to check out the interior of the vehicle. The vehicle had been at one time a US Army ordinance maintenance truck that had been converted sometime in it's past into a mobile command post. The lathes, drill presses and other heavy machinery had been stripped out and replaced by radios, maps, desks, and even a safe.

"Look at this," said Morgan, pointing to a large map on the wall of the command post. The map was that of the continental United States and looked to be an almost identical copy of the map that Colonel Smithson had shown us only a few days ago. There were circled cities, yellow areas, arrows and border lines drawn on the acetate overlay. But there was a rolled-up overlay above the map that interested both of us. Morgan walked over to it and untied it and let it fall down over the map and the other overlay.

This overlay showed us all of the locations of Western Forces, US Government forces, foreign forces, independent forces, etc. in the American Midwest from the Rockies to the Mississippi River. There was a blue circle in southern Kansas marked "TF MoBear."

"Damn, they knew where we were two days ago," said Morgan. "Here are the defense units at McConnell AFB and their defensive zone." He pointed at Omaha, Nebraska. "Look at this, that's the symbol for an airborne unit and it's marked "82nd," must mean the 82nd Airborne Division."

"Let's see," I said, looking closer at the map. "Western Forces are red, US Government forces are blue, I guess they consider us to be a US faction, foreign units are green, independent forces are orange. Texas is full of orange unit designations, so I guess they were considering Texas as an independent."

"But there's also blue units along the Texas coast," said Morgan. "Oh I see, they're designations for ships. Must be elements of the US Navy. What's that?" he asked, pointing to a large purple area over central Nebraska. "It's marked "President Earl?" Who's President Earl?"

"I don't know," I replied and looked around and found a clipboard hanging on the wall next to the map. I grabbed it and looked through the papers on the clipboard.

"Wow, this has got all the numbers of personnel and equipment of all the units on the map. How did they get all this information?" I flipped through the papers until I found what I needed. "Here we are. The info on us is from when we were at McConnell AFB as to numbers and personnel. You're named, so is Smithson." I flipped a few more papers and found something that really caught my eye. "Here's the info on "President Earl.""

-----------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Answers, and more Questions, Part 2**

"Here's the info on "President Earl.""

"Well, what is it?" asked Morgan.

"According to this, "President Earl" is the de-facto leader of the armed resistance in Nebraska. He gives daily updates and coded messages to his troops in his "fireside chats." There are at least two or three possible locations he might be at currently in the area on the map. At least 3 ex-Nebraska National Guard units have sworn an oath of loyalty to his cause." I flipped a page. "Now this is interesting, it says that while many claim to have seen President Earl, none can be confirmed and al the descriptions are different."

Morgan shook his head, "We've got to show Smithson this." He pulled his radio off his belt and spoke into it. "Colonel, this is Morgan. We've got something you need to see."

-------

"I don't believe this," Smithson said, tossing the clipboard onto the table. Smithson, Morgan, Dr. Van Buren and I were clustered around the desk in the former enemy mobile command post.

"It is amazing," replied Van Buren. "Somehow, someone has the ability, knowledge, and capacity to track and find out where all the units are from the Rockies to the Mississippi, and from the Mexican border to Canada. Impressive."

"Not just impressive for locations, but the information on people down to personal information is just creepy," replied Morgan, picking up the clipboard. "I mean, just look at what they have on us. This has info on Colonel Smithson and me down to military career and home addresses. The numbers for us two days ago was spot on and even had the projected fuel consumption for the next 5 days. The only question mark is "why TF MoBear is in Kansas." For some reason that part is blank."

Smithson looked at me, "What do you think?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "I don't know, sir." I got up and walked over to the map. "But one thing is missing off this map."

"What's that?" asked Smithson.

"These guys we just fought," I replied. "There are no markings for them anywhere. It doesn't make sense. Who are these guys and why did they attack us? Where does such a force the size of this group get their fuel and supplies from? We are being refueled at various stops like McConnell AFB and our next one is the Texas Air Force's enclave at Dodge City. But there's nothing on this map for these guys. They can't be getting gas at the local truck stop, and not for those helicopters. Something's wrong here."

"No extra maps or overlays or notes?" asked Smithson.

"No, we searched everything in this vehicle except for that safe," said Morgan, pointing over at the small safe that sat in the corner. "We've looked all over and never found the combination. Best guess, the combination died with one of these clowns."

I nodded my head and then stopped. "Pardon me, I just thought of something." I walked out of the command post and over to where the late "Mister Jackson" still lay. I searched through his pockets until I found what I was looking for.

"Let's see what his wallet has to say," I said as I reentered the command post. "Driver's license, credit cards, Ravenswood Security Services, Inc. ID card, well, that explains who he was working for prior to bombs." I tossed the cards onto the table as I continued to search his wallet. I unfolded a large piece of paper. "A photo of Jackson standing in a group of people, with a real funky looking US flag behind them, I wonder who the bald guy with the cane in the front is?

"What," said Smithson with a startled expression? "Let me see that picture." He snatched it from my hand and smoothed it out on the table. "O my god," he said in an awe-struck voice. "It's them."

"Who?" said both Morgan and Van Buren.

"The people who planned the bomb attack," said Smithson quietly.

"What!" said Van Buren. He stepped over and looked closely at the photo. "Explain to me what's going on! I lost my entire family in this disaster!"

Smithson pointed at the picture, his finger rested on the bald man with the cane. "He's the guy I was talking about that night in Waterloo. That flag is the flag of the Western Forces. But here's the part that bothers me," he pointed to a small easel in the right side of the picture. "Look at the date. Its six months _before_ the attack."

"Holy mother of god," said Morgan.

I shook my head and continued to search the wallet. Then I found a small piece of folded paper. I unfolded it to find a series of three numbers. "Bingo," I said quietly and walked over to the safe.

I knelt down and started to spin the dial, it took 3 tries but then finally I turned the handle and the door swung open.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Answers, and more Questions, Part 3**

I knelt down and started to spin the dial, it took 3 tries but then finally I turned the handle and the door swung open.

I looked into the safe and began to pull out items.

"Here we go," I said, tossing the items up on the table. "Small notebook, looks like a possible diary. Small bag of gems and rings, probably looted from some store. Small packet of maps. Five bundles of US money, still with bank wraps on them." I stopped for a second. "Well, the final edition of the Harry Potter series," I flipped through the book. "Oh, it's the British edition."

"Makes sense," said Morgan, "Considering the bombs went off before the US copies were printed, how does it end?"

"Let's see," I flipped to the end. "Oh, I didn't see that coming. Lord Voldemort gets pushed by Harry Potter into the path of the Night Bus."

"Very funny," said Smithson. "What else is there?"

"Ok, 5 audio tapes all marked "Harley Earl speeches." I shrugged my shoulders. "Another small black notebook, oh ho, it's a code book. That's it." I stood up.

Smithson grabbed up the codebook and looked through it. "Damn straight, we've got an advantage now. This is super important."

Smithson looked at the three of us. "Gentlemen, what we've acquired here may be the difference needed in the next few weeks. What is said here, stays here, everybody understand?" We all nodded.

"Everything that we've found here is important. This codebook is only part of the process, the Western Forces have tied in certain pages from this book," he held up the Potter book. "If you don't have the codebook and the novel, then the codes are almost unbreakable unless you have a very large computer, and after the EMP problems, most of those computers are no longer working." He pointed at the map on the wall. "And this gives an extremely updated picture of the current situation. We are no longer in the dark."

"This truck is coming with us to Dodge City," continued Smithson. There we'll have a USAF plane take this info back to McConnell AFB where the nearest command center will get the information out to the proper commands."

Smithson looked at me, "Your tank is down until we reach Dodge City, turn command of it over to your gunner. I want you to take command of 'Battle Cat,' its commander was killed today and I want you to take it and add it to your Recon section. The way things are going, you're going to need the extra firepower real fast."

I nodded, "Fine by me, sir. Willie's ready to take over my tank. He's a good man."

Smithson looked at Morgan. "Mark, this mobile command post is your baby now. I want you to keep me posted hourly if anything changes. You've got the codebooks and radio information, use it carefully.'

"Shall I make copies for us and Jefferson City?" asked Morgan.

"Hell, yes," replied Smithson. I want us to have every advantage we can get. We're sitting out here in Kansas with no chance of reinforcements. We are on our own until we get back to Missouri."

"I'll do it," said Morgan.

"Oh," said Smithson with a smile. "Find out who the hell President Harley Earl is."

--------------------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Problems in Dodge City, Part 1**

It took us two days to move from Kingman to Dodge City, it was only about 80 miles, but we weren't moving too fast in order to avoid any more "surprises" like we had found west of Kingman. Colonel Smithson also wanted to take time to bury our dead and reorganize our unit.

The recon section moved out first, I was now commanding "Battle Cat," an M-60 battle tank and an old veteran of numerous battles since the "Day." The tank had participated in the "Battle of Kirksville," "The Ozark Campaign," and other fights as well. I was now the sixth commander of "Battle Cat" since the "Day," and I hoped I wouldn't buy the farm while in it. But there was another reason I was happy to have this tank. 23 years ago I first saw this tank at Jefferson City and rode around in its commander's position, just for fun. Now I was commanding it and the circle was complete.

For the most part, the convoy movement was uneventful, until Greensburg. There we saw what a lot of America had become.

Just before the "Day," Greensburg had been hit by a deadly tornado that had wiped out the town and most of the surrounding area. FEMA had stepped in and set up a huge mobile home park for the displaced people of the town. But after the "Day," it had become something else.

As the recon section approached the town, we were stopped by a roadblock consisting of several semi-trucks and trailers stretched across the road. I sent one of the Hummers down to see what the problem was and they came back a few minutes later; the vehicle commander got out and met me next to my tank.

"They say we can't pass through Greensburg unless we pay a "toll," explained the soldier. "The guards saw the "toll" is to be based on the number of vehicles, number of people, time of day, weather conditions, time of month…"

"What," I asked? "Who's the nut in charge?"

"I asked that, and I was told that it was not my business to ask. I then told him that we were the Missouri National Guard and I was then told to take my "lazy, worthless, FEMA-loving, monkey-shinning butt" home and leave this state to the people of Kansas. He looked at me and smiled. "Now what?

I stood there and thought. What I really wanted to do was to fire a shot over their heads with the main gun, or failing that, put a round into the center of the roadblock and damn the results. But we supposed to be helping these people, not killing them.

"Ok, what kind of weapons did they have," I asked?

"All I saw were rifles and shotguns. If they had anything bigger, they kept it hidden."

"Hummmm," I thought. I sighed and climbed back into the tank. I radioed Smithson and gave him the bad news. He told me to hold my position and wait.

While we sat there waiting, we watched the roadblock and the people manning it. They watched us watch them. You had to give those people credit; it takes guts to tell a military force with tanks to "go away."

But "guts" aren't much against tanks.

--------------------------------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Problems in Dodge City, Part 2**

But "guts" aren't much against tanks.

While we waited I had the rest of the recon section form a circle on the highway to prevent anyone from "sneaking up" on us. Not there was much chance of that, as the flat land all around us was striped bare of anything alive. Every plant, weeds included, were gone.

I sat on the top of "Battle Cat's" turret and surveyed the surrounding area. West was what remained of the town, the biggest things were the huge grain silos that stood like silent sentinels against the sky, to the north and east were just empty prairie, the highway and an empty railroad track.

But about a mile or so south of town there rose a large black plume of smoke that towered into the sky, and with came the unnerving smell of burnt rubber, wood, plastic, and something else that none of us could put a finger until the section's medic said that it reminded him of third degree burns.

"My god," I said to the Hummer's commander. "What the hell is going on here?" A sudden thought came to my mind. "Did the roadblock troops look well-fed?"

"Not really," he replied. "You don't think that……"

"These days, who knows? People will do whatever it takes to survive."

We continued to wait, an hour passed uneventfully, then a second hour passed. Halfway into the third hour of "watching," one of my soldiers announced that there were two Humvees coming from the east.

The Humvees pulled up to the rear of our position and waited until they were cleared to pass into our position. Out of them came Captain Morgan, Dr. Van Buren and SGT Bobbi Weikamp, along with some extra soldiers.

"What's that smell," said Morgan, his nose wrinkling up as the odor hit him.

"That's the smell of burning flesh," exclaimed Van Buren. "What the hell is going on?"

I pointed west down the road and then southwest to the smoke column, "There's two problems here. What is causing that smoke and smell and who is blocking the road. The roadblock people are tight-lipped and won't talk to us other than to tell to leave Kansas and go home."

"Sounds like a highly intelligent idea," muttered Van Buren. Weikamp looked at him and smiled.

"I'm all for that idea too," she said.

Morgan raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes and focused down on the roadblock. "Has anybody actually gone down there and talked to these people?"

I pointed down from my turret position to the Humvee commander who had gone down and talked to the roadblock. "MoKensie here did."

Morgan walked over to him and talked quietly to him. I looked down at Van Buren and Weikamp. "What are you two doing here? Bobbi, you're not Morgan's bodyguard now, are you?"

She looked back and smiled, "Naw, it was getting boring back at the main column today. I've been riding flank guard for the last few days and it's gotten to the point where I'm starting to lose my edge. So I volunteered to come along for the ride."

Morgan walked back to Van Buren and Weikamp and looked up at me. "Unhook yourself and climb down; we're going for a little stroll."

I looked at him and asked, "Where?"

"Down there," he replied, pointing west down the road.

I looked at him like he was insane. "Just the two of us?"

"No, Bobbi's coming too."

"So am I," said Van Buren. "I really need to know why we keep smelling burnt flesh so much."

I breathed out slowly, took off my tanker's helmet, and leaned down into the turret to retrieve my cap. I took a minute to tell the gunner that if anything went wrong, then his orders were to come save us with all guns blazing. He nodded and assured me that he would.

I climbed down off of the tank and joined the other three. While I was getting down off the tank, Bobbi had walked back to the Humvee and had returned with three nylon gun cases. She handed me one.

"Captain Morgan, Dr. Van Buren, and I want to give you an early birthday present."

I unzipped the case and pulled out an M1 Thompson submachine gun. It had some dings and scratches on it, but otherwise, it looked as good as it did when it was first made in the early 1940s.

"This is great," I said with a smile. "Where did you find it?"

Morgan laughed, "We found it in one of the wrecked tanks when the battlefield back at Kingman was cleaned up. I knew that you had one back in Missouri and thought you'd like one here. There's some clips and ammo in the Humvee for you too."

It took me a few minutes to load the 30-round magazines and come back to Morgan and the others. Van Buren and Morgan each had a small subgun and Bobbi had cradled in her arms some strange looking cross between a machinegun and a shotgun.

"What is that," I asked?

Bobbi gave me one of those million dollar smiles. "It's a Franchi SPAS-12 semi-automatic shotgun. I found it back at Kingman as well. I like it."

Morgan shook his head, "Alright, let's get going." He headed for one of the two Humvees. The rest of us followed.

I climbed into the right rear passenger seat and looked over at Van Buren. "This is insane."

Van Buren looked back at me with a sad smile, "This whole world is insane now, so why should this be anything different?"

Morgan started the engine and we headed down the road to the west.

A little voice in the back of my head told me I should have stayed in Missouri.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Reflections and Recriminations, Part 1**

I sat and watched smoke from the burning vehicles drift over the prairie 20 miles north of Dodge City. Task Force MoBear had fought its first real battle with the forces of the west and while we had won, the cost had been far too great.

It had been a confused fight, hampered by the fact that both sides were using the same equipment and tactics, having been trained by the same manuals and lessons. Lessons for some that had ignored the changes wrought when the bombs went off.

I was sitting on the top of "Battle Cat," the ancient M-60 tank that I had gained command of several weeks ago. The tank was slewed to one side having lost several of its road wheels and right track during the battle. I could hear the gunner and driver discussing and cussing at the damage to the right side, but somehow their foul banter that I had been a part of the last 2 weeks wasn't funny anymore.

I looked to my left where the assistant gunner's hatch was, a trail of dried blood led from it down the side of the tank. My assistant gunner had been killed when we had run out of main gun ammo and we were reduced to firing out of our open hatches at the western soldiers as they had tried to assault us with a close-in anti-tank attack. It hadn't helped that we had taken the hit that reduced us to becoming a stationary target.

A quarter of a mile away in front of us was the final resting place of the armored column that we had blundered into this morning. Their vehicles lay broken and ruined like a scene from an angry kid's temper tantrum, many of them were still burning, their crews and supporting infantry lay dead around them But what was burning and ruined to my right was the saddest.

Fifty yards to my right was one of our M1 battle tanks, fire was still coming out of the hatches and panels, it had taken a hit early on from one of the enemy M1s and burst into flame, no one had gotten out alive. It was Colonel Smithson's tank. Task Force MoBear had lost its commander and we would never be the same.

My mind drifted back several weeks to when myself and three others had approached the roadblock outside Greensburg. A little voice in the back of my head had told me I should have stayed in Missouri. I should have listened to it.

---------------

"What are you thinking about?" asked Dr. Van Buren as he looked closely at the small black subgun in his hands.

"Just thinking how much I wish I was home right now," I replied.

"At least you have a family and a home to return to," said Van Buren sadly. "My family were in California when it happened, I don't think anybody made it out, and if they did, I really doubt they made it this far."

The Humvee came to a halt. "Ok folks," said Morgan. "Let's walk down and talk to the locals." Mark opened his door and got out, so did the rest of us.

"Locos or locals?" asked Bobbi Weikamp to no one in particular.

Morgan looked over at her as we walked down the road towards the roadblock. "For god's sake don't say anything that might piss these folks off. We are supposed to be here to help, not start a range war."

"OK, sheriff," I replied.

"I really don't know why I brought either one of you along…," muttered Morgan as we got close to the roadblock.

The roadblock's guards let us get within 15 feet of the roadblock before one of them climbed up on the sandbagged portion and told us to stop. He climbed down and walked towards us.

"What do you want now?" snarled the guard. Our noses wrinkled at the stench that wafted our way. He was dressed in what remained of a camouflage hunting suit and had a shotgun in his hands.

"I'm Captain Mark Morgan of the Missouri National Guard and I'm requesting pas…"

"You don't request nothing from us," snarled the guard again. "We make the rules around here ever since FEMA tried to leave us in the lurch when the bombs fell. We fixed their wagons and we'll do the same to you if you don't get the hell out of here."

"Is there anyone else we can talk to?" asked Morgan.

"No," laughed the guard. "You can talk to me; the mayor's too busy to deal with scum like you."

I suddenly noticed Dr. Van Buren begin to look more closely at the guard.

"Where did you get that earring?" asked Van Buren, pointing to a large diamond earring that hung from the guard's ear.

The guard laughed, "I done took it off a fine young lady about six months ago, she and her kids begged for their lives, but I wasn't in the mood to hear no…."

The guard's voice was cut off as Van Buren swung his subgun up and pulled the trigger.

---------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Reflections and Recriminations, Part 2**

The guard's voice was cut off as Van Buren swung his subgun up and pulled the trigger.

The little black subgun jerked in Van Buren's hands as he emptied the entire clip into the sneering guard. The guard's body flopped and jerked as the rounds impacted and then the lifeless corpse hit the asphalt.

There was a dead silence that lasted a few seconds until one of the other guards yelled out, "Get them."

Then the shotgun in Bobbi's hands roared out as she began to fire over the barricade into the faces of the guards. I reacted as well and began to fire short aimed bursts at the heads as well. I could hear Morgan's subgun fire as well from the other side of Van Buren.

In a few minutes it was all over, the smell of cordite and spilled blood filled the air. Bobbi and I walked over to the barricade and checked on the guards. All of them were dead. Bobbi looked down at them, shrugged her shoulders and then began to reload her SPAS-12.

I looked back to Van Buren. He stood there like a statue and slowly the subgun dropped from his hands and fell to the ground. He reached down and tore the earring from the guard's earlobe. Morgan walked up to him.

"I'm sorry," I heard Van Buren say. "But I recognized that earring; I had the set made for my wife for our sixth wedding anniversary. They were one of a kind…." He stepped away from Morgan and walked over to the Humvee and began to cry.

I looked from Van Buren to Morgan and shook my head. Morgan looked at me and gave back a sad smile. Our quiet was ended as we heard the armored vehicles from my section coming down the road at a fast clip.

The vehicles roared up and came to a halt behind the Humvee. My assistant gunner leaped out of the commander's hatch and climbed down. "Are you okay?"

I nodded my head, "We're fine. But get this area secured real fast, I'm sure that someone's gonna be pissed that we killed some of their guards." He nodded and headed back to the tank.

I walked over to Morgan who was looking at the guards that had died behind the barricade. He was going through their pockets. In the background I could hear the vehicles moving into position.

"I've secured the perimeter," I said and looked down at him as he knelt over one of the guards.

"Good," he replied. He stood up and looked at me. "Notice anything odd about these mutts?"

I looked down at the bodies. Most of the upper torsos and heads were pretty well pulped from the bullets and shotgun pellets but what had been protected were still intact. The bodies were dressed in a motley collection of clothes ranging from overalls to the remains of camouflage uniforms. The weapons that lay strewed around were equally diverse, shotguns, hunting rifles and two M-16s.

"They look fairly normal for this time." I replied.

"Take a real thoughtful look," said Morgan.

I looked again and then it dawned on me. These corpses weren't skinny or underfed. In fact they looked better fed than most of the people I'd seen in sometime. "Oh no," I said aloud.

"Yep," Morgan replied, shaking his head. He walked over to a pot that was bubbling over a small fire. He kicked it over.

The contents of the pot flowed out onto the ground. "Oh my god," I heard Bobbi say behind us. The "stew" was water, a few stunted vegetables and several human hands, some of them were very small.

I turned and walked a few feet away, behind me I could hear Bobbi throwing up. Morgan walked up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.

"I was expecting to see this sooner or later," he paused and thought for a moment. "I'm just surprised we didn't see it sooner out here."

I starred off toward the town; I noticed a small dust cloud headed towards us from the center of the town.

"It looks like we have company on the way, Mark. But I don't think we should take up their offer of a banquet in our honor."

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**Task Force MoBear – Reflections and Recriminations, Part 3**

"No, I don't believe we should," said Captain Morgan.

As we waited for the 'welcoming committee' to move up towards us I asked Morgan, "So what else did you find out about these goofs?" I pointed at the dead bodies.

"Well, not much," replied Morgan. He picked up a discarded jacket from the ground and put them over the human part of the 'stew.' "These clowns didn't have much in their pockets of value for intell. They do have lots of tattoos though."

"Let me see those," I said, kneeling down to look at the now stinking corpses. I pulled up the sleeves of the ones closest to me. The bodies' arms were covered with various badly done tattoos. "Just as I suspected," I said quietly, standing up.

"What do you mean?"

"There clowns were ex-cons, and those are your run-of-the-mill prison tattoos. These guys probably all broke out of a prison when the bombs went off and the guards all "beat feet home" as fast as they could," I stated.

"He's right," said a voice from behind us. It was Bobbi, she still looked shaken. "It wasn't the hands itself that bothered me, it was the size. My god, I can't believe that people would stoop to eating children." She shook slightly. "I'd like to know who would allow this."

"Here's your chance," said Morgan, pointing down the road.

We all looked down the road and saw a badly-battered Humvee, flying a flag, coming towards us. At first we thought it was a standard American flag, but as it got closer we realized that it wasn't our American flag.

"Mark," I said quietly. "That's the flag we saw in that picture from that dead guy's wallet a couple of days ago."

"I know," he replied back to me. "Bobbi, get back to "Battle Cat," call Smithson on the secure radio and give him a fast SitRep. Then tell the gunner to keep a tight sight picture on that vehicle. If the two of us drop to the ground, then tell the gunner to fire."

"OK," she turned and headed for my tank.

"And Bobbi," continued Morgan. "Have somebody sit on Van Buren and make sure he can't get his hands on a weapon!"

Morgan turned and looked at me. "This day is getting better and better by the minute."

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**Task Force MoBear – Reflections and Recriminations, Part 4**

'Yeah, better and better," I replied, putting a full clip into my Thompson. I turned my head to see Bobbi climbing up the side of "Battle Cat" and getting into the commander's hatch. Behind the tank I could see Dr. Van Buren being pushed into the back of a M2 Bradley IFV by two of our soldiers. I turned towards Captain Morgan as he started speaking to me.

"I don't know what's going on here," he said quietly. "But we need to get as much info out of these clowns as possible. What we know from that map back in that captured command truck added to whatever these people have could very well mean the future of this country."

"And our safety," I added.

"Yeah," agreed Morgan.

We both watched the battered Humvee approach up the road towards us. It was apparent that it had seen either a lot of action or some of the worse preventive maintenance ever. The vehicle sagged to one side on a ruined suspension, the front windshield was cracked and broken, the paint was scared and flaking and the remains of the fabric top flapped in the wind.

When the vehicle was within 50 feet of us, Morgan put his left hand out, palm out to indicate for the vehicle to stop. The vehicle stopped and three figures got out of the vehicle, leaving the driver inside.

The three who got out of the vehicle were as badly dressed as the now-dead guards. Two of them were heavily armed; one with a M16 and grenade launcher combo and the other with a battered light machine gun, the third one was unarmed, but the other two seemed to defer to him. He walked towards us and then stopped 10 feet from us and looked around.

"What happened here?" he asked. "My guard force, who killed them?"

"We did," replied Morgan. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harold Lettleton, the Governor of the Southwestern Kansas Territory of the Allied States of America, who are you?"

"Captain Mark Morgan, executive officer of Task Force MoBear of the…" He was cut off by a stream of words from Lettleton.

"Wow, I didn't expect you guys so far south, I was told that you guys would be operating up in Nebraska. How's Colonel Rossier? If I had known you guys would be here, I would have told my guards to let you guys pass. Did you bring any supplies for us?" He stopped when Morgan held up a hand.

"Colonel Rossier is back with the main column and should be here soon." Morgan looked around. "Now Governor Lettleton, perhaps you will answer some of my questions?"

Lettleton nodded, his piggy eyes all agleam, "Fire away, Captain."

"How many troops do you have right now? What's the current situation around Dodge City? What's with the big cloud of smoke to the south? And what's with cannibalism with your guards?" Mark asked angrily.

The fat "Governor" paled under the dirt on his face.

"I've only got about a hundred or so. Those damn Texans and Kansas Militia are holding Dodge City. The big cloud of smoke is the burning remains of the FEMA trailer park. And a guy's got to eat you know," he smiled slightly at the last sentence. Then he stopped and looked oddly at Morgan.

"Wait a minute, you didn't give the official ASA salute," as fear suddenly crept into his piggy eyes. "Who are you guys again?"

"I said, I'm Captain Mark Morgan, executive officer of Task Force MoBear of the Missouri National Guard."

The "Governor" suddenly reached into his coat, pulled out a handgun and started to point it at Mark.

Mark swung his subgun up and shot the "Governor."

All hell then broke loose.

--------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Reflections and Recriminations, Part 5**

The "Governor's" body jerked under the impact of the 9mm rounds and then crumpled to the ground.

"No!" I briefly heard the "Governor's" bodyguards scream out as I dropped my subgun and pulled Mark to the ground.

As soon as the two of us hit the asphalt, the guns behind us began to fire. Everything from M-16s to the main gun on "Battle Cat" went off almost at once. We were rocked by the blast from the 105mm main gun several times. The weapons firing went on for several minutes and then slowly began to fade off.

I raised my head and looked around. What was left of the Hummer and the guards lay scattered about. In the distance there were several fires from the town itself. Mark and I slowly got up and looked around. We faced east and saw our entire recon troop facing west towards the town. The Bradley IFVs and "Battle Cat" had smoke coming up from the gun barrels and all the foot soldiers were reloading their individual weapons. Bobbi waved to us from the commander's hatch of the tank.

"We're all ok!" she yelled. "How about you?"

Mark nodded and began to search the dead "Governor's" corpse. He pulled out a number of items from the body's pockets, but tossed all but two away. He straightened up and walked back to me.

"Another codebook and an ID card, take a look."

I looked through the small black notebook, "its code alright, probably based on the Harry Potter book. The ID card's screwy though, the 'Allied States of America?' Who are they?"

"I think the answer's coming closer each day," replied Mark.

"Captain Morgan!" came a cry from behind us. We both looked towards the voice. Bobbi was climbing down quickly from the commander's hatch. She ran up to the two of us.

"We're getting a radio broadcast and it's not from us," she took a deep breath. "It's from the town and they're screaming for help from the 'High Command.!'

Mark looked at me, "Get your forces down into that town and shut down that transmitter, fast!"

"Yes Sir!" I replied, running for my tank.

-------

It took us fifteen minutes to find the radio, but when we burst down a door in a small building near a large radio mast we found several people grouped around a large military radio. The radio operator was screaming into the mike.

"…Send help now! The enemy forces are overrunning the town as we speak! There's at least ten tanks and over two thousand soldiers in the streets…" The operator's voice trailed off as the people around the table went for their guns.

Foolish people.

--------

When the smoke cleared in the room we could see the crumpled bodies and the still-working radio. Bobbi walked over to the radio and pushed the dead body out of the chair. She sat down and thumbed the talk button on the radio.

"High Command, this is the Missouri National Guard. The town of Greensburg, Kansas is once again in the hands of forces loyal to the United States of America. As we speak, the final remnants of your so-called 'Southwestern Kansas Territory of the Allied States of America' defense forces are being rounded up. We have pictures of the atrocities that your forces have conducted in this town and we will make sure that the world knows what has happened here!" She flipped off the transmit button and sat back in the chair. "How was that?"

"That'll piss off whoever is on that frequency," I replied with a grin. "Come on," I looked around at the rest of the soldiers who had come into the building with us. "We've got a town to liberate."

**------------**

**Sidebar**

In Cheyenne, Valente crumpled the final radio transmission transcript from Greensburg, Kansas in his hand and swore. He put the paper down and called for his aide.

A frightened man stuck his head in the room, "Yes sir?"

"Where is the 198th Armored Battalion right now?"

"In the southeastern corner of Colorado, sir."

"Get the commander on the line," growled Valente. "He's got a new set of orders."

--------------------------------------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Reflections and Recriminations, Part 6**

It took two hours, but in the end, we liberated Greensburg. But what we found wasn't pretty.

After the bombs had gone off, the local town administrator had allowed everyone who needed shelter to come to the town, but there just wasn't enough places for people to live considering that the town was still rebuilding from the devastating tornado that had almost destroyed the town the year before.

The town administrator argued with the FEMA officials who were in charge of the mobile home park south of the town and when talks reached an impasse, hired a number of escaped convicts to become his "strike force." This force of escaped convicts "arrested" the FEMA workers and the town administrator had them killed. Then the convicts turned on the townspeople and enslaved them. Over the first winter, food supplies ran out and people turned to whatever they could to survive. Anyone who wandered into the town from outside was killed and then used as 'emergency food stocks,' this system was also used on those who died from malnutrition or exposure. All went into the stew pots.

The FEMA trailer park caught fire and the resulting explosions from the buried fuel tanks there resulted in an almost permanent fire that many people used to stay warm and cook 'food.' When an under strength platoon from the Kansas National Guard visited the town a few weeks later, they were poisoned and their equipment and weapons became the backbone of the town's "strike force."

Then a small force of heavily-armed men arrived and explained to the town council what the Allied States of America was and appointed the town administrator the 'Governor' of the 'Southwestern Kansas Territory of the Allied States of America.' Promises of aid were made and the new flag flew over the rebuilt city hall.

Then we showed up.

----------

After we had secured the town and liberated the town folk, though how one could consider someone who willingly participated in such actions as "liberated," Smithson and the rest of the main column arrived and set up camp north of the town. Smithson ordered that the truck full of canned goods that we had captured from the Ravenwood forces back at the 'Battle of Kingman" be handed over to the starving people and for our medical personnel to aid the people in any way they could.

I stopped by Van Buren's medical tent where he and the rest of our medical staff were running a medical line for the inhabitants of Greensburg. I found Van Buren outside on a self-enforced break.

"How are things going?" I asked.

Van Buren looked at me with sad, tired eyes. "Dear god, I have never seen in all my days such horrible conditions. These people are suffering from TB, pleurisy, diphtheria, dysentery, malnutrition, radiation burns, leukemia, and I think we've diagnosed several variations of plague and anthrax. What a mess."

"Are **you** doing ok?" I asked carefully, as I noticed the tears forming in the man's eyes.

"I'm sorry," said Van Buren. "I just never expected to see this much suffering in such a small area. Plus I now know that my family made it here and were killed for their flesh…" His voice trailed off and the tears began to fall.

I caught the doc as he started to collapse and helped him into a chair. I then went and got one of the other medical personnel to keep an eye on him. The unit's shrink, Dr. Okabla, a young physician who had immigrated from Nigeria just before "The Day" came out of the tent with me. Van Buren was still in the chair, crying softly.

"I'll do the best I can for him, what he really needs is lots of sleep," he hesitated. "What he really needs is to go back home, but he has no home."

-------------

Smithson also ordered Captain Morgan to take the mobile command post truck that had all the important papers and several Bradley IFVs as escort up to the Dodge City airport where much of the intelligence from that vehicle would be flown out, first to McConnell Air Force base and then on up the chain of command.

Two days later I was helping my crew and some mechanics from the rear column pull preventive maintenance (which has to be done almost everyday or the tank doesn't run) on "Battle Cat." I heard a motorcycle coming up from the other side of the tank and then Bobbi roared around the tank on her motorcycle and came to a quick stop.

"Colonel Smithson wants you up at the command post," she said. "Captain Morgan just got back as well."

"Thanks," I replied. "Any idea what's up?"

"Nope, he sent me to go gather up the rest of the various commanders, and to do it pronto." She revved the cycle's engines and then roared off.

Ten minutes later I and a number of others were waiting outside Smithson's command post track for the Colonel to tell us what was so important that we needed to know.

-------------------------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Reflections and Recriminations, Part 7**

Colonel Smithson, Captain Morgan and a man in civilian clothes came out of the command track along with another civilian carrying a large covered map board. The map board was placed on a stand.

"Gentlemen, and ladies," spoke the colonel. I looked closely at him. I could see that not all was well. Morgan's face was blank of expression.

"I've got news that many of you have been dreading for some time. We are at war. Not with an outside foe, but from within. These two gentlemen here are from the Federal Government in Columbus, Ohio and the Republic of Texas and have advised me on events that have taken place in the last 3 days."

All of us were taken aback from this announcement, but the worst was yet to come.

"There is a state of war now between the Federal Government in Columbus and the so-called "Allied States of America". The Republic of Texas has now decided to continue its allied partnership with the United States Government to reunite this country. But there are some new changes for us."

"Ok," continued Smithson. "As of today we have been federalized with consent of the Governor of Missouri and are now the 135th Armored Battalion of the 14th Armored Division of the United States military. The history of the 14th Armored Division goes back to World War II and its unofficial name was "Liberators." And that's just what we are to become, "Liberators.""

Smithson looked at Morgan. "Your turn, Captain."

Morgan looked at all of us; my friend who always had a smile even in the worst of times was not smiling now. "Here's the straight poop. Yesterday the Governor of Kansas proclaimed his loyalty to the Allied Sates government and allowed elements of the Allied States military to enter Kansas. Some of those forces that were airlifted into Kansas have entered into Missouri's western counties just north of Kansas City. Fighting is reported to be heavy. The Kansas governor has ordered all Kansas militia and National Guard units to drive out any and all "foreign invaders" from this state."

"Good luck to that!" came a voice to the crowd. The rest of us laughed.

"Laugh now," said Morgan without a smile on his face. "Because the news isn't getting any better. There were several almost simultaneous assassination attempts on several Midwest governors including the governors of Missouri, Arkansas, and Illinois. The attempts on our governor and the Arkansas governor failed, but the one on the newly elected Illinois governor was successful. The Allied States controlled media is claiming that their border is now the Mississippi River. The State Governments of Missouri, Arkansas, and Louisiana have all declared this to be false and have pledged their loyalty to the Federal Government of the United States of America. As for the rest…."

Morgan's voice trailed off. He thought for a moment and then walked over to the covered map and flipped over the cover. There it was a map of what had been the United Sates of America, now it was divided into three major sections, Texas was red, the Federal Government was blue and the Allied States were green. Missouri was blue, thank god.

"If you look closely at this map, you will notice something very strange in Kansas, Oklahoma, Nebraska and the Dakotas. There are a lot of blue dots. These are towns, cities, and military units who have decided that they want no part of this new America. Dodge City is one of these dots. The garrison commander there said that he wants nothing to do with the Cheyenne government. That's where we are going next."

"What about those purple dots in Nebraska?" asked someone in the crowd.

Morgan finally smiled, "That is one of the great mysteries right now. Those are towns and military units who have pledged their allegiance to someone called President Harley Earl. Nobody knows who he is or where he is, but his radio broadcasts have caused a major headache to the Cheyenne government."

Morgan paused as one of the civilians raised his hand. "May I address your soldiers, Colonel?"

"Be my guest, Mr. Thomas-Allen," said Smithson.

"Thank you." He turned and looked at the crowd. "OK, everyone. I'm Frederick Thomas-Allen, the acting Under-Secretary of State for the reconstructed United States of America. The President has sent me out here to let all of you know how grateful the nation is on your brave efforts so far." He stopped for a minute. "Ok, enough with the snake-oil. America took a real hit on "The Day" but we're starting to come back, but it's going to be a real hard crappy road for a long time. And now we've got this war on our hands. Task Force MoBear has accomplished more than you'll ever know in saving this country and what you'll have to do until this country is reunited will tax so many of you. But I'm so damn glad that you're on our side. Thank you."

"Does this mean that we're going to start getting paid soon?" cried a voice from the crowd.

"Yes," replied Thomas-Allen. "All pay is retro-active to the day you were called up by the state or joined Task Force MoBear. Also, those members of this organization who are not members of the Army may remain as members of their current service branch and stay with the task force. Anyone who wishes to get out and go home may also do so at Dodge City. Those people will be flown out by the Texas Air Force."

Smithson stepped forward again. "Alright, I've got a few more things to announce before we get ready to move out tomorrow. We've got 14th Armored patches for our uniforms, the representative from Texas," he motioned to the second civilian, a lean, hard-looking Latino individual with a Texas Ranger badge on his shirt, "has brought us several hundred pounds of Texas beefsteak for us to eat, and best of all, we have mail!"

The crowd burst into cheers and ten minutes later I had several letters from my wife in my hands, I ripped the newest dated one open first and began to read.

----------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Reflections and Recriminations, Part 8**

I ripped open the newest dated envelope and began to read.

"_My Darling Husband,_

_I hope and pray that this letter and all the others I've written reaches you and that you are safe._

_Things back here in Missouri are chaotic, to say the least. Since you left the state we've undergone several high points and low points. Among the high points were the reestablishment of power to the bootheel and the rest of the area. Just being able to turn on the lights and be able to keep fresh food is a godsend._

_The low points were the attempted assassination_ _of the Governor last week and the announcement from the Western States that we were no longer a part of the United States. But the Governor has decided that we are still and shall remain a part of the United States._

_As you know when you left the state, the Governor activated the State Guard and my old commission in the State Guard was determined to be still effective. I was a Captain in the local 6__th__ Regiment, MP Platoon, but I'm now the Regiment's XO and now hold the rank of Major in the State Guard. Down here in the southeast region all there is to do right now is keep the roadways open with the help of the Highway Patrol and whatever other units we can get or authorize to help us.._

_The area around Gideon and Clarkton is still in ruins and I don't think that the area will ever be rebuilt. What those two towns did to each other still causes people to wonder "Why?" and then shake their heads. I still shudder how it was when we entered those two towns to put down the fighting._

_As for other news, your son is doing fine and…"_

My reading was interrupted by Mark's hand on my shoulder. "The Colonel needs to see us pronto."

"What's up?"

"It's not good," he replied.

A minute later we were standing with Colonel Smithson, Dr. Okabla, and Bobbi Weikamp. "I've got bad news," said Smithson. "Bobbi found Dr. Van Buren dead. It looks like he took his own life."

"There was a note," stated Dr. Okabla. "He wrote that he couldn't take the truth of what happened to his family and that he was going to join them in heaven."

Smithson nodded, "Thank you Doctor. As of this moment you are the unit's chief medical officer. And as such you are now privy to everything that Dr. Van Buren knew. As such…"

Smithson looked thoughtful for a moment and then pointed at the map that still stood on the easel. "We were going to stay in Dodge City for a few days to refit and rest, but there's been a new problem come up."

"What is it?" I asked.

"There's another armored column located just over the Colorado-Kansas border that's been ordered to intercept us and prevent our movement." He looked at me and Bobbi. "And no, they're not traffic cops," he added with a slight grin.

"The unit is the Allied States Army's 198th Armored Battalion," stated Mark. "Right now it's in the process of heading north-northwest and it looks like their plan is to block the road that we were planning to take to get to Jericho on Highway 27. The unit is about the same size as us and is composed of experienced soldiers."

"Right," said Smithson. "We eat good tonight and tomorrow we'll be on the road. We stop at Dodge City long enough to refuel and rearm, and pick up the reinforcements we've been promised from the garrison commander and the Texas military. From there we move fast and we'll see who gets to Tribune, Kansas first."

"What's the operation name for this movement?" asked Weikamp.

Morgan smiled for the first time. "Operation Bedford Forrest."

---------------------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Operation Bedford Forrest, Part 1**

The next morning Task Force MoBear was back on the road, but instead of breaking the unit down into three elements we all moved as one. The tracked vehicles were loaded onto the tank transporters and we moved fast.

We left behind in Greensburg only bad memories and a single grave. Even though Dr. Van Buren hadn't been a military person, we gave him a burial with full military honors in no small part for what he had done. Before we lowered him into the ground, I put the only thing that would have mattered to him in his shirt pocket, the single earring that had belonged to his late wife.

With the Hummers and Humvees providing security, the column roared down the road towards Dodge City, for the first time since we had left Missouri, we were doing over 55 miles per hour and it felt good. I sat on the top of "Battle Cat" and let the wind blow across my face. The cold, but fresh air was like a wake-up call to so many of us in the column. It was the air of the western plains and like us, it was free.

We stopped in Dodge City only long enough to fill all the fuel tanks of all the vehicles, refill all the ammo boxes, have a quick meal at the airport, and pick up our reinforcements, three self-propelled guns of the Kansas National Guard and a company of anti-tank gunners from the Texas military.

Dodge City was no longer the sleepy little cow town; it had become the advance base for the forces fighting the Allied States. At the airport were elements of various military forces, including several flights of aircraft from the Texas Air Force and the United States Air Force and ground forces from the US military, Texas military, elements of the Kansas National Guard who had decided not to join up with the treasonous Kansas governor and the Kansas Free Militia.

After the bombs had gone off the local National Guard unit had been at Fort Sill for artillery range firing and decided prior to heading home that they would go home with a full load of ammo. They "acquired" plenty of 155mm rounds for their gun tubes and then headed home. Upon arriving home, Battery B of the 161st Field Artillery began to fortify Dodge City and held off numerous assaults by "road gangs" and other armed bands. Their powerful guns would chop apart any forces that entered their range.

As time went by, Dodge City became a haven for those needing help and as more and more people poured in, the garrison commander decided to arm the populace into the "Kansas Free Militia" to help the soldiers. Slowly, the people began to reclaim more and more land back from the chaos and started to rebuild. But then the Allied States showed up and demanded that the garrison commander hand over all the equipment and to be "re-educated." The garrison commander responded first with "Nuts" and then followed that statement up with a time-on-target barrage that wiped out most of the Allied States force. Things remain fairly tense until the arrival of elements of the Texas military that extended the runways and put fighter planes above the town for protection.

This was all told to me by Arturo Paulson, the Texas Ranger who had joined us at Greensburg. Paulson had arrived in Dodge City all by himself three months ago and he told me how it had been in Texas after "The Day."

"It's a hard thing to understand," remarked Paulson. "Texas took a big hit when the bombs went off; I lost my brother at the shoot-out and explosion at Texas Stadium when that bomb went off. But his sacrifice saved millions in Dallas. Texas is rebuilding and I'm glad that the new United States government didn't give us any real grief when we decided to break away and reform the Republic of Texas."

"I figured that Louisiana, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico would be more nervous than anything else that you might decide to expand in size," I replied.

"I'm sure the thought crossed the minds of several people in the Texas government," nodded Paulson. "But saner minds agreed that such a move wouldn't make us any friends and Texas needed all the friends we could get."

"What else happened?" I asked as the miles sped past us. "I heard that there was a naval action off the coast."

"Yeah," said Paulson. "The Mexican Navy along with two subs from the Cuban Navy decided to do a little bit of freebooting along the southern coast. It was over pretty quickly, but now Texas is having to fight a two-front war. But the situation down on the Mexico border is pretty quiet right now." His face darkened. "And no, just in case you ask, I don't give a damn about what 'my people' south of the border feel about this war. 'My people' are my family and the state of Texas, as far as I'm concerned, I'm still an American."

------------

The column continued to move through the night, we went around Garden City and by morning we were at the remains of the small town of Syracuse, Kansas. The town had been burned to the ground by a vicious motorcycle gang and now the town's only importance was that it was the intersection of Highways 50 and 27. We turned north and roared up Highway 27 towards Tribune.

Fifteen miles south of the town, the column stopped and we began to unload our armor from the transporters, there was a battle coming, and we all knew it.

----------------------------------------

**Task Force MoBear – Operation Bedford Forrest, Part 2**

After we had unloaded all the vehicles and got them ready to move out, Colonel Smithson decided to have one last briefing. We all gathered in front of Smithson's M1 tank.

"Alright everyone," announced Smithson. "In a few hours we'll be fighting hardened foes who once were US soldiers just like you and me. But they chose their own path; it's up to us to stop them here and now. Be real careful once the fighting starts, their equipment is our equipment and I don't want any chance of 'friendly fire' incidents." He paused.

"I've received information from our Texas allies that a recon flight has spotted the enemy force about 10 miles west of Tribune on Highway 96 and coming fast. The Texans and our Air Force are going to make an air attack in the next 15 minutes on them while we advance into Tribune and set up our line just west of town." He looked down at Captain Morgan, who stood there with a large stack of brown envelopes on a field table next to him.

"Captain Morgan has copies of your orders, maps, and call signs all ready for everyone. Study them closely and if you have any questions, ask him. But do it fast, because in 10 minutes we move." Smithson looked around at us, "Good luck and good hunting, I'll see you all when it's over."

I waited for my name to be called out and found myself next to Bobbi Weikamp, "Are you ready?" I asked. "You are taking your cycle out into this?"

"Hell no," she replied, flashing one of those million dollar smiles. "I've got that now," she pointed over to a large tank. It was the old M-48 we had captured from the road gang weeks ago. Our mechanics and armorers had done a fine job of updating and up-gunning the tank. "I'm no longer a scout, but a full-fledged tank commander and I'm in your section."

"Great, just keep a clear head and don't shoot me by accident," I replied. I turned when I heard my name called. Morgan handed me a large packet.

"Here are your orders, be damned careful today."

"Damn straight," I replied. "My ass is important to me." I broke open the envelope and started to walk towards "Battle Cat." Weikamp grabbed her orders and fell in step with me.

"Looks like this is going to be one big battle," she said quietly.

----------

Twenty minutes later we were rolling through the deserted streets of Tribune. The town had been quiet before the bombs, and after, it had become even quieter. A few ragged civilians watched us roll through town, but most of them had already fled east and north away from the two armies that threatened its existence.

Ahead of us were the Texan anti-tank gunners mounted in Jeeps and Hummers, these guys had guts. For they were armed with only light weapons and anti-tank missiles in vehicles with no armor, they depended on speed and 'fire and forget' missile systems to survive.

Behind us were the Kansas artillery unit, they were already digging in and raising the gun tubes in readiness to fire. For the first time Task Force MoBear would have artillery support and we would need it.

As we turned west on Highway 96 we could see in the distance large black clouds that marked the spot where the airstrikes against the Allied States force had gone in. I hoped that they had done enough damage to make them stop, turn around, or just give up. But I knew that to be a lie as I knew that the other force had to attack. Their orders probably demanded that they attack.

------------

After we had passed through Tribune we came to the small town of Horace, there we began to set up our defense. The defensive line was just putting our armor off the road and behind whatever cover we could find. The anti-tank unit roared down the road in search of the enemy column.

"All units," crackled my headphones in my helmet. "This is Echo Alpha One, are you in position? Over."

"Roger, Echo Alpha One, this is Tango Whiskey One, we are in position," I replied. I then heard over the headphones other sections reporting in.

"All units," replied the voice which I assumed to be Smithson's (at least it sounded like him), "Enemy force is within two miles of us and is engaging the anti-tank unit. As soon as they pull away, the artillery will open up; good luck to everyone, you have your orders. Echo Alpha One, out."

----------

A minute or so later I could hear the heavy crump of artillery fire to our rear and then the freight train-like rumble as the shells arced over us and began to fall to our front. The explosions out in the distance confirmed that the shells were causing some damage to the advancing force; all we had to do was wait for them to come within range of our guns.

"Tango Whiskey One, this is Tango Whiskey Two," it was Sgt. Clark, my old gunner in my first tank, he had taken command of it when I had moved up to "Battle Cat." He was about a hundred yards to my left and about 50 yards in front of the rest of the force. "I've got a visual on the enemy force at coordinates DG12346732 or about a mile or so due west of my position." He ended the transmission with a harsh short laugh.

I popped my commander's hatch and stood up and looked west with my binoculars. I could see a number of small vehicles racing back and being chased by a large number of armored vehicles. The Texans had done their attack and were heading home, but the enemy wasn't in the mood to let them go. I watched as the enemy guns began to pick off the retreating Texans one by one.

"All units, all units, this is Echo Alpha One. On my command, open fire as soon as the enemy force comes within range. Do not, repeat do not advance until I give the orders. Echo Alpha One out."

A minute later the main gun on Bobbi's tank fired, then with a ripple-like effect, the rest of Task Force MoBear opened fire on the enemy column. Our shells lanced towards the enemy like ancient crossbow bolts, but the effect of our shells were far more deadly than a crossbow's weapon.

Enemy tanks burst into flames and shuddered to a halt with their turrets lifting on blossoms of flames off the hulls. But still they came on firing like volcanoes into our ranks. Explosions near me marked where their shells were reaching us and causing destruction. The sound of our guns, their guns, and our artillery was deafening.

-----------

**Sidebar: Jericho, Kansas**

Major Beck of the Allied States 10th Mountain Division paused in his office as a low rumble could be heard outside his command post building. He picked up his helmet and walked outside.

There it was again, that low rumble coming from the south, what could it be? It didn't sound like thunder, and then it hit him.

"My God, that's artillery fire," he turned and rushed back into the building to call Cheyenne.

-------------

**Task Force MoBear – Operation Bedford Forrest, Part 3**

And still the enemy continued to advance towards us. I could hear though my headphones the various elements of Task Force MoBear talking, yelling and giving orders. Then came the order that many of were dreading.

"Echo Alpha One to all units, Echo Alpha One to all units, advance and close with the enemy."

The voice was Colonel Smithson's; I gave the order to my section.

"Tango Whiskey One to all Recon elements. You heard the man, let's go." I heard my section report in and acknowledge the order.

And then the tank lurched forward and we left the comparative safety of our cover and across the entire line of our defense the entire unit moved forward.

As we advanced towards the enemy, fire raged all about us. We passed burning armored vehicles of the enemy and the ruined light forces of our Texas allies. I heard a scream in my headphones and I knew that at least one of my section had "bought the farm."

"All Tangos report in!" I screamed. It took a minute for all but one to report in, it was Tango Four. I spun my commander's turret around and spotted the burning Bradley APC behind us. I shook my head, "Damn."

I spun the turret back forward and watched as Bobbi's tank, Tango Whiskey Five, cut in front of us and go racing towards an enemy tank. Her tank's main gun fired and the enemy vehicle exploded as the armor piercing round slammed through the armor and set off the vehicles' ammo.

And then suddenly, we were through the enemy line, and like armored knights of old, both sides turned and roared towards each other again.

I felt the tank shudder from both near misses and glancing blows from various shells and explosives. I knew that the reactive armor that had been bolted on during our journey was working, setting off counter-explosions that prevented us from taking damage. But every time one went off, there was an open spot that was no longer protected. Sooner or later our luck was bound to run out. But when?

-------------

**Sidebar – North of Jericho, Kansas**

Colonel Dwight Fredrick of the Texas Air National Guard piloted his F-4 Phantom at low level across the Kansas plains, following him was another Phantom and off to his left was a flight of three F-15s, all headed south towards the fighting at Tribune.

"Where are we Frank?"

His backseater replied, "We just passed over the town of Chinook and we'll be going over Jericho in a few seconds. The battle is about 3 minutes out."

"Right," acknowledged Fredrick. "Red Leader, this is Gold Leader, do you hear me?"

"Gold Leader, this is Red Leader, I hear you fine. We'll pull away from you and give you top cover after we pass Jericho. Are we going straight over Jericho this low?"

"We don't have time to divert, let's go in straight and fast."

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**Sidebar – Jericho, Kansas**

"Dammit!" yelled Major Beck into the radio handset. "I've got the sound of artillery fire and plumes of smoke off my southern horizon. My scouts are reporting civilians fleeing north from that area. What the hell is going on?" Beck listened to the voice on the headset.

"What the hell do you mean? It's just an 'incident.' What kind of BS are you giving me? I've gotten reports that there are jet aircraft circling off to my north." He listened again to the voice.

Just then there was a scream of high performance jet aircraft engines that roared over and windows all over Jericho began to shatter as the sonic boom wave washed over the town.

"Would you like to re-explain your answer now?" yelled Beck as he brushed off glass from his uniform. But the radio was silent.

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**Task Force MoBear – Operation Bedford Forrest, Part 4**

And then our luck ran out on us.

The tank was rocked by an explosion that lifted us up and then slammed us down, tossing us inside the turret into various objects, everything went dark.

What seemed to be forever but was probably only a minute or two, I came to on the floor of the turret. The gunner was slumped in his seat and the loader was on the floor as well. I shook the loader and he groaned.

"What happened," he asked?

"I don't know, check on the gunner, I'm going to take a look outside," I replied.

I opened my hatch carefully and looked around. "Battle Cat" lay slewed to one side. I carefully leaned out and looked down, what I saw told me that the tank wasn't going anywhere soon. Several of the road wheels and the tread on the right side were gone.

All around us was smoke and fire from burning vehicles that littered the area like the broken cast-off toys tossed by an angry child. Gunfire was all around us as tank fought tank and man fought man in a full-blown orgy of destruction to the death.

I dropped back down into the tank to see the gunner smiling.

"I've still got targets and ammo, sir," he said.

"Keep firing," I said, then raised my helmet mike to my lips and told the driver to get out of his compartment and get up to the turret and help the gunner fire. I then turned and looked at the assistant-gunner/loader and told him to break out his light machine gun, open his hatch and prepare for close-in combat.

As I raised myself once again to the open hatch the tank was rocked as the main gun fired once again. I spun the .50 caliber machinegun turret in opposite direction towards the enemy lines and began to fire at figures began to come out of the smoke towards us; it was enemy infantry coming across the battlefield in an open formation, their weapons at the ready.

My fire took down several of them, but the rest scattered into the drifting smoke and disappeared. I reminded the gunner to be careful what he fired at as much of the two forces were using the same equipment.

The driver scrambled up the turret side and I made room for him to get into the turret and start pushing shells into the main gun as I heard the assistant gunner open fire with his light machinegun. The turret suddenly turned and the main gun fired again. I raised myself up once again and fired blindly into the smoke. As the smoke ebbed and flowed, ghostly shapes of armored vehicles and men on foot moved. I wasn't sure who the armored vehicles were, but I knew that if they were infantry, then they were the enemy. Smithson had put out the order that if infantry had to dismount from the APCs, then they had to stay with the vehicles, even if the vehicles was damaged or destroyed.

I looked to my left and saw the assistant gunner firing his machinegun at a group of figures that appeared wraith-like out of the smoke, his fire took some of them down but a rocket-propelled grenade roared out of the smoke and passed just over our heads to explode away from us. The assistant gunner fired where the rocket had come from and a repeat of the incident did not occur.

I continued to fire and the main gun continued to fire, with each roar from the cannon, the turret would quickly swing another direction and then the gun would fire again. Every time the main gun fired a huge cloud of smoke and dust would rise up and smother us like a blanket. I knew the gunner wasn't having any problems since he had his thermal sight, but the rest of us were blinded until the cloud thinned. The enemy was getting closer and closer.

Then I heard over the sound of battle the approach of low-flying jet aircraft. "Get down!" I yelled. We dropped down into the turret and slammed down the hatches. All around us the ground shook as hundreds, if not thousands of tiny cluster bombs exploded across the battlefield, cutting down both friend and foe and then the jets roared over us and were gone.

As soon as the explosions stopped we reopened the hatches and opened fire once again. The main gun fired and the tank rocked back once again. As I was spinning my commander's turret to get a shot at group of enemy soldiers off to my right, I suddenly felt my back become wet and warm. I turned around to see the headless torso of my assistant gunner still twitching as a number of enemy soldiers came once again out of the smoke near our tank. I pried from the corpse's hands the light machine gun and fired directly into the crowd. I held the trigger back until the weapon clicked empty. The enemy soldiers lay like broken toy soldiers on the ground.

I yelled down into the turret for the driver to grab some more ammo for the light machine gun and for him to get up here and take over. The gunner yelled back that he was down to his last 5 rounds for the main gun and pushed the firing button, the main gun roared and again the tank rocked back. I turned back to my .50 cal. and continued to fire. A few minutes my machine gun ran out of ammo, I looked down into the turret and realized that I was out of ammo. I grabbed my Thompson SMG from the rack next to the radio and when I looked back up there were several enemy soldiers who were climbing on the rear of the tank.

I fired into them and watched as they tumbled off the tank. I looked to my left and saw several more right below me on the ground; one had a satchel charge in his hands as he began to place it under the tank. Screaming like a madman I emptied a second and then a third clip into them. I could still hear the light machine gun continue to fire behind me. The driver was doing his best to keep the enemy away from our left flank. The main gun fired again and again in what seemed to be slow motion.

I fired again and the Thompson was empty, I was again out of ammo. I dropped the gun onto the roof of the turret and pulled my pistol for its holster and fired at point-blank range into the face of an enemy soldier who was getting ready to stab my driver in the back. I continued to fire and reload like a robot until suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, I spun around ready to fire and then realized that it was my driver, he grabbed my wrist preventing me from shooting him and said that the enemy was gone.

I looked around and realized that he was right; the smoke was beginning to clear, revealing the battlefield in all its horror. Off to our left was the remains of a Bradley APC, it looked like someone had taken a giant can opener to it. On our right was a M1 Abrams burning, smoke pouring out of its hatches. It was Smithson's command tank; it looked like no one had escaped. All around our tank were dead men, they lay like broken dolls. What was truly sad was that they were Americans just like us, but they had taken a different path than we had and that had made us enemies.

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**Sidebar – Jericho, Kansas**

Major Beck of the Allied States 10th Mountain Division and his headquarters staff walked out of the Jericho City Hall and looked south towards the plumes of dark smoke raising over the distant horizon. The now-silent radio only continued to affirm what Beck already knew. The United States forces were closer than many knew or wanted to admit.

Beck heard a noise behind him and he turned to see what made the noise. There was that clown of a mayor who had gone off to the ASA convention in Cheyenne. What was he doing back here?

Mayor Anderson smiled at Beck and pointed up. Beck slowly looked up the flagpole to where Anderson was pointing; the rest of his staff looked up as well.

There flapping in the breeze was a yellow flag with a coiled snake and the words "Don't Tread on Me" on it. Anderson continued to smile at Beck.

"This day is getting better and better," muttered Beck to himself. He looked back to his command post, there in the doorway stood Ms. Lisinski. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"Yup," said Beck, his voice filled with disgust. "This day is betting better and better."

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**Task Force MoBear – Operation Bedford Forrest, Part 5**

I sat and watched smoke from the burning vehicles drift over the prairie just west of Tribune, Kansas. Task Force MoBear had fought its first real battle with the forces of the Allied States of America and while we had won, the cost had been far too great.

It had been a confused fight, hampered by the fact that both sides were using the same equipment and tactics, having been trained by the same manuals and lessons. Lessons for some that had ignored the changes wrought when the bombs went off.

I was sitting on the top of "Battle Cat," the ancient M-60 tank that I had gained command of several weeks ago. The tank was slewed to one side having lost several of its road wheels and right track during the battle. I could hear the gunner and driver discussing and cussing at the damage to the right side, but somehow their foul banter that I had been a part of the last 2 weeks wasn't funny anymore.

I looked to my left where the assistant gunner's hatch was, a trail of dried blood led from it down the side of the tank. My assistant gunner had been killed when we had run out of main gun ammo and we were reduced to firing out of our open hatches at the western soldiers as they had tried to assault us with a close-in anti-tank attack. It hadn't helped that we had taken the hit that reduced us to becoming a stationary target.

All around us was the final resting place of the armored column that we had met this morning. Their vehicles lay broken and ruined like a scene from an angry kid's temper tantrum, many of them were still burning, their crews and supporting infantry lay dead around them. But what was burning and ruined to my right was the saddest.

Fifty yards to my right was one of our M1 battle tanks, fire was still coming out of the hatches and panels, it had taken a hit early on from one of the enemy M1s and burst into flame, no one had gotten out alive. It was Colonel Smithson's tank. Task Force MoBear had lost its commander and we would never be the same.

I pushed the memories of the last few days from my mind to the realization that I hadn't seen anyone else from my recon section, was "Battle Cat" the only survivor? My worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rock music coming from behind the rise in front of us.

"She's got it! Yeah, baby's she's got it!" came the music as a column of enemy soldiers with their hands on their heads came over the rise. Following it was a battered tank; the music came from a loudspeaker welded to the turret.

The tank was Bobbi Weikamp's and she was bringing in the captured enemy. I ran the music through my brain and then realized that it was "Venus" by the pop group "Bananarama."

"I'm your Venus; I'm your fire, at your desire!" The music continued to play. I looked over towards the tank; Bobbi was standing up in the commander's hatch, behind a .50 cal. machinegun that was pointed towards the column of prisoners. She saw me and waved.

I smiled, then stood up on the turret of "Battle Cat" and gave her a parade ground salute. If Bobbi had survived, then there was a very good chance that Task Force MoBear had too.

"It looks like this day is getting better and better," I said to myself as Bobbi's tank rolled by and smiled again. I looked to the east as one of our Humvee's came over a distant ridge and headed for us. I hoped that whoever was in the vehicle could give us some information and let us know what happened.

A few minutes later the Humvee came to a halt next to my tank and Captain Morgan got out and walked towards me. I climbed down from the tank and walked towards him. I put my hand out and we shook hands, we had both survived. Things could only get better.

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**Task Force MoBear – Operation Bedford Forrest, Part 6**

Things could only get better. Captain Morgan and I stood next to the damaged tank and surveyed the remains of the battle before us. Every few minutes a single artillery piece a mile behind us would go off and a large caliber shell would fly downrange towards the retreating Allied States forces as what was left of the 198th Battalion tried to reach the Colorado state line and their sense of safety. But they, like us, had paid dearly.

"So what's left of us?" I asked.

"Three tanks running, six damaged but repairable, and the rest are ruined and will need a complete rebuild back in Ohio." Morgan took off his hat and wiped his head with a cloth. "It looks like we will be able to get two or three of the enemy armor repaired and running within a week."

"Personnel?"

"We lost about 35 percent of Task Force MoBear KIA and WIA." Morgan turned and looked at me. "Just so you know, with the loss of Smithson, I'm now the commander. This sucks all around…"

"You see me now a veteran of a thousand psychic wars. My energy's spent at last and my armor is destroyed. I have used up all my weapons and I'm helpless and bereaved. Wounds are all I'm made of. Did I hear you say that this is victory?" I looked at Morgan and gave a small smile.

"Blue Oyster Cult. Yeah, that pretty much sums this whole day up," replied Morgan. He looked over to where the headless body of my loader was covered by a blanket. "When this war is over I hope to god somebody builds a memorial to everyone who died here, so their sacrifice might mean something to those who come later."

"Damn straight," I agreed. "When do want us to start fixing the tanks? I can pull some replacement road wheels and track off that wrecked M-60 over there." I pointed towards a badly damaged Allied State tank that lay gutted like a fish three hundred feet away.

"I've already ordered up the repair equipment and they'll be here. Work all night if you have to, but I want as much of this force to be ready to roll in three days or less." Morgan looked grim. "We've destroyed much of a major AS force and opened up a major hole in their defense line. Right now the 82nd Airborne are being attacked near Omaha and our victory here will help take some of the heat off them. Plus the Texans are pushing up from New Mexico into southern Colorado and causing all kinds of hell with the Allied States forces there. But as far as I'm concerned the war's going to won or lost here in Kansas, this area is going to become a focal point in the war. Its perfect tank country and it's a major growing area for corn and wheat."

"And it's up to us to make sure that we keep and hold this area… And then on Cheyenne." I looked at Morgan again and nodded. "I'll get to work right now, get me a repair crew and vehicle here and as soon as we're fixed, refueled and get ammo and supplies; we'll be ready to go."

"Do it," said Morgan. He shook my hand again and then climbed back into the Humvee and drove off. I turned and headed for "Battle Cat." It looked like the day wasn't going to be over for a long time.

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**Sidebar: Jericho – Kansas**

"Sir! There's a vehicle coming into town!" yelled a young soldier from the roof of the headquarters. "It looks like it's one of ours!"

Major Beck shifted his view from the "Don't Tread on Me" flag that now flew from the city hall's flagpole to the soldier on the rooftop. "What kind of vehicle is it?"

"It's a Humvee, sir. And it's got ASA markings!"

Several minutes later the Humvee drove into town and pulled up in front of the city hall that was now being used as the headquarters of Major Beck's force in the town. The right front passenger door opened and a man got out. The man was dressed in black and had a star on his chest.

"Hello, Major Beck," said the man.

"And hello to you, Arturo," replied Beck. He turned and looked at the Mayor. "Mayor Anderson, I'd like for you to meet an old friend of mine, Arturo Paulson of the Texas Rangers."

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End file.
